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SONKY 


■'WELL,    GOOD-NIGHT,    doctor!    TO-MORREB,    SHORE.'" 

(see  page  15.) 


SONNY' 


BY 

EUTH   M^ENERY   STUART 


KiUt^ 


I 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1897 


Copyright,  1894,  1895,  1896,  by 
The  Century  Co. 

Copyright,  1895,  by 
The  Hojub  Queen 


THE    DE  VINNE    PRE88,  NEW-YORK 


TO 

MY  SON 

STIRLING  MCENERY  STUART 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  Cheistmas  Guest 1 

The  Boy 17 

Sonny's  Chkistenin' 28 

Sonny's  Schoolin' 50 

Sonny's  Diploma 73 

Sonny  "Keepin'  Company" 92 

Weddin'  Pkesents 115 


SONNY 


SONNY 

A  CHRISTMAS  GUEST 

A  MONOLOGUE 

BOY,  you  say,  doctor !  An'  she 
don't  know  it  yet  ?  Then  what 
're  you  tellin'  me  for  ?  No,  sir  — 
take  it  away.  I  don't  want  to  lay 
my  eyes  on  it  till  she  's  saw  it  —  not  if  I 
am  its  father.  She  's  its  mother,  I  reckon! 
Better  lay  it  down  somew'eres  an'  go  to 
her — not  there  on  the  rockin'-cheer,  for 
somebody  to  set  on — 'n'  not  on  the  trunk, 
please.  That  ain't  none  o'  yo'  ord'nary 
new-born  bundles,  to  be  dumped  on  a  box 
that  '11  maybe  be  opened  sudden  d'rec'ly 
for  somethin'  needed,  an'  he  dropped  ag'in' 
the  wall-paper  behind  it. 
1  1 


2  SONNY 

It 's  hers,  whether  she  knows  it  or  not. 
BonH,  for  gracious  sakes,  lay  'im  on  the 
table  !  Anybody  knows  that  '5  bad  luck. 

You  think  it  might  bother  her  on  the 
bed  ?  She  's  that  bad  ?  An'  they  ain't  no 
fire  kindled  in  the  settin'-room,  to  lay  it  in 
there. 

S-i-r  f  WeU,  yas,  I— I  reck'n  I  '11  hafto 
hold  it,  ef  you  say  so — that  is — of  co'se  — 

Wait,  doctor!  BonH  let  go  of  it  yet! 
Lordy!  but  I  'm  thess  shore  to  drop  it! 
Lemme  set  down  first,  doctor,  here  by  the 
fire  an'  git  het  through.  Not  yet !  My  ol' 
shin-bones  stan'  up  thess  like  a  pair  o'  dog- 
irons.  Lemme  bridge  'em  over  first  'th 
somethin'  soft.  That  '11  do.  She  patched 
that  quilt  herself.  Hold  on  a  minute  tell  I 
git  the  aidges  of  it  under  my  ol'  boots,  to 
keep  it  f'om  saggin'  down  in  the  middle. 

There,  now !  Merciful  goodness,  but  I 
never !  I  'd  ruther  trus'  myself  with  a  whole 
playin'  fountain  in  blowed  glass  'n  sech  ez 
this. 

Stoop  down  there,  doctor,  please,  sir,  an' 
shove  the  end  o'  this  quilt  a  leetle  further 
under  my  foot,  won't  you  I    Ef  it  was  to 


A  CHRISTMAS  GUEST  3 

let  up  sudden,  I  would  n't  have  no  more 
lap  'n  what  any  other  fool  man  's  got. 

'N'  now — you  go  to  her. 

I  'd  feel  a  heap  safeter  ef  this  quilt  was 
nailed  to  the  flo'  on  each  side  o'  my  legs. 
They  're  trimblin'  so  I  dunno  what  minute 
my  feet  '11  let  go  their  holt. 

An'  she  don't  know  it  yet !  An'  he  layin' 
here,  dressed  up  in  all  the  little  clo'es  she 
sewed !  She  mus'  be  purty  bad.  I  dunno, 
though ;  maybe  that 's  gen'ally  the  way. 

They  're  keepin'  mighty  still  in  that 
room.  Blessed  ef  I  don't  begin  to  feel  'is 
warmth  in  my  ol'  knee-bones !  An'  he 's  a- 
breathin'  thess  ez  reg'lar  ez  that  clock,  on'y 
quicker.  Lordy !  An'  she  don't  know  it 
yet !  An'  he  a  boy !  He  taken  that  after  the 
Joneses  ;  we  've  all  been  boys  in  our  male 
branch.  When  that  name  strikes,  seem 
like  it  comes  to  stay.    Now  for  a  girl — 

Wonder  if  he  ain't  covered  up  mos'  too 
close-t.  Seem  like  he  snuffles  purty  loud  — 
for  a  beginner. 

Doctor !  o/i,  doctor !    I  say,  doctor ! 

Strange  he  don't  hear  —  'n'  I  don't  like 
to  holler  no  louder.    Wonder  ef  she  could 


4  SONNY 

be  worse.  Ef  I  could  tliess  reach  somethin' 
to  knock  with!  I  dares  n't  lif  my  foot, 
less'n  the  whole  business  'd  fall  through. 

Oh,  doc'! — here  he  comes  now — Doctor, 
I  say,  don't  you  think  maybe  he  's  covered 
up  too — 

How  's  she,  doctor  ?  "  Thess  the  same," 
you  say;  'n'  she  don't  know  yet  —  about 
him?  "In  a  couple  o'  hours,"  you  say? 
Well,  don't  lemme  keep  you,  doctor.  But, 
tell  me,  don't  you  think  maybe  he  's  cov- 
ered up  a  leetle  too  close-t  ? 

That  's  better.  An'  now  I  've  saw  him 
bef o'  she  did !  An'  I  did  n't  want  to,  nei- 
ther. 

Poor  leetle,  teenchy,  weenchy  bit  of  a 
thing!  Ef  he  ain't  the  ver^/ littlest !  Lordy, 
Lordy,  Jjordy!  But  I  s'pose  all  thet  's 
needed  in  a  baby  is  a  startin'-p'int  big 
enough  to  hoi'  the  f am'ly  ch'racteristics.  I 
s'pose  maybe  he  is,  but  the  po'  little  thing 
mus'  feel  sort  o'  scrouged  with  'em,  ef  he 's 
got  'em  all  —  the  Joneses'  an'  the  Simses'. 
Seem  to  me  he  favors  her  a  little  thess 
aroun'  the  mouth. 

An'  she  don't  know  it  yet ! 


A  CHRISTMAS  GUEST  5 

Lord !  But  my  legs  ache  like  ez  if  they 
was  bein'  wrenched  off.  I  've  got  'em  on 
sech  a  strain,  somehow.  An'  he  on'y  a  half 
hour  ol',  an'  two  houi'S  mo'  'f o'  I  can  budge ! 
Lord,  Lord !  how  tvill  I  stand  it ! 

God  Mess  Hm  !  Doc !  He  's  a-sneezin' ! 
Come  quick !  Shore  ez  I  'm  here,  he  snez 
twice-t ! 

Don't  you  reckon  you  better  pile  some 
mo'  wood  on  the  fire  an' — 

What  's  that  you  say?  "Fetch  'im 
along  "  ?  An'  has  she  ast  for  'im  ?  Bless 
the  Lord !  I  say.  But  a  couple  of  you  '11 
have  to  come  help  me  loosen  up  'fo'  I  can 
move,  doctor. 

Here,  you  stan'  on  that  side  the  quilt, 
whiles  I  move  my  foot  to  the  flo'  where  it 
won't  slip  —  an'  Dicey  —  where 's  that  nig- 
ger Dicey  ?  You  Dicey,  come  on  here,  an' 
tromp  on  the  other  side  o'  this  bedquilt 
till  I  h'ist  yo'  young  marster  up  on  to  my 
shoulder. 

No,  you  don't  take  'im,  neither.  I  '11  tote 
'im  myself. 

Now,  go  fetch  a  piller  till  I  lay  'im  on  it. 
That 's  it.  And  now  git  me  somethin'  stiff 
1* 


6  SONNY 

to  lay  the  piller  on.  There  !  That  lapboa'd 
'11  do.  Why  did  n't  I  think  about  that  bef  o'  ? 
It  's  a  heap  safeter  'n  my  ole  knee-j'ints. 
Now,  I  've  got  'im  secure.  Wait,  doctor  — 
hold  on  !  I  'm  af eered  you  '11  haf  to  ca'y 
'im  in  to  her,  after  all.  I  '11  cry  ef  I  do  it. 
I  'm  trimblin'  like  ez  ef  I  had  a'  ager,  thess 
a-startin'  in  with  'im  —  an  seein'  me  give 
way  might  make  her  nervious.  You  take 
'im  to  her,  and  lemme  come  in  sort  o'  un- 
concerned terreckly,  after  she  an'  him  've 
kind  o'  got  acquainted.  Dast  you  hold  'im 
that-a-way,  doctor,  'thout  no  support  to 
'is  spinal  colume?  I  s'pose  he  is  too  sof 
to  snap,  but  I  would  n't  resk  it.  Reckon  I 
can  slip  in  the  other  do'  where  she  won't 
see  me,  an'  view  the  meetin'. 

Yas ;  I  'm  right  here,  honey !  (The  idea 
o'  her  a-callin'  for  me — an'  him  in  'er  arms !) 
I  'm  right  here,  honey  —  mother!  Don't 
min'  me  a-cryin' !  I  'm  all  broke  up,  some- 
how ;  but  don't  you  fret.  I  'm  right  here 
by  yo'  side  on  my  knees,  in  pure  thank- 
fulness. 

Bless  His  name,  I  say !  You  know  he  's 
a  boy,  don't  yer  1    I  been  a  holdin'  'im  all 


A  CHEISTMAS  GUEST  7 

day  —  't  least  ever  sence  they  dressed  'im, 
pui'ty  nigh  a'  hour  ago.  An'  he  's  slep'  — 
an'  waked  up  —  an'  yawned  —  an'  snez  — 
an'  wunk  —  an'  sniffed  —  'thout  me  sayin' 
a  word.  Opened  an'  shet  his  little  fist, 
once-t,  like  ez  ef  he  craved  to  shake  hands, 
howdy !  He  cert'n'y  does  perform  'is  func- 
tions wonderful. 

Yas,  doctor ;  I  'm  a-comin',  right  now. 

Go  to  sleep  now,  honey,  you  an'  him,  an' 
I  '11  be  right  on  the  spot  when  needed. 
Lemme  whisper  to  her  thess  a  minute, 
doctor  I 

I  thess  want  to  tell  you,  honey,  thet  you 
never,  even  in  yo'  young  days,  looked  ez 
purty  to  my  eyes  ez  what  you  do  right 
now.  An'  that  boy  is  yd*  hoy,  an'  I  ain't 
a-goin'  to  lay  no  mo'  claim  to  'im  'n  to  see 
thet  you  have  yo'  way  with  'im  —  you 
hear  ?  An'  now  good  night,  honey,  an'  go 
to  sleep. 

They  was  n't  nothin'  lef  for  me  to  do  but 
to  come  out  here  in  this  ol'  woodshed  where 
nobody  would  n't  see  me  ac'  like  a  plumb 
baby. 


8  SONNY 

An'  now,  seem  like  I  canH  git  over  it ! 
The  idee  o'  me,  fifty  year  ol',  actin'  like 
this! 

An'  she  knows  it !  An'  she  's  got  'im  — 
a  hoy  —  layin'  in  the  bed  'longside  'er. 

"Mother  an'  child  doin'  well!"  Lord, 
Lord !  How  often  I  've  heerd  that  said ! 
But  it  never  give  me  the  all-overs  like  it 
does  now,  some  way. 

Guess  I  '11  gether  up  a'  armful  o'  wood, 
an'  try  to  act  unconcerned  —  an'  laws-a- 
mercy  me !  Ef — to-day  —  ain't  —  been  — 
Christmas  !  My !  my !  my !  An'  it  come 
an'  gone  befo'  I  remembered ! 

I  '11  haf  to  lay  this  wood  down  ag'in  an^ 
think. 

I  've  had  many  a  welcome  Christmas  gif 
in  my  hfe,  but  the  idee  o'  the  good  Lord 
a-timin'  this  hke  that ! 

Christmas !  An'  a  boy !  An'  she  doin' 
well ! 

No  wonder  that  ol'  turkey-gobbler  sets 
up  on  them  rafters  blinkin'  at  me  so  peace- 
ful !  He  knows  he  's  done  passed  a  critical 
time  o'  life. 

You  've  done   crossed   another  bridge 


A  CHRISTMAS  GUEST  9 

saf e-t,  ol'  gobbly,  an'  yon  can  afford  to  blink 
— an'  to  set  ont  in  the  clair  moonlight,  'stid 
o'  roostin'  back  in  the  shadders,  same  ez 
you  been  doin'. 

You  was  to  've  died  by  accident  las' 
night,  but  the  new  visitor  thet  's  dropped 
in  on  us  ain't  cut  'is  turkey  teeth  yet,  an' 
his  mother  — 

Lord,  how  that  name  sounds !  Mother ! 
I  hardly  know  'er  by  it,  long  ez  I  been  try- 
in'  to  fit  it  to  'er  —  an'  f  earin'  to,  too,  less'n 
somethin'  might  go  wrong  with  either  one. 

I  even  been  callin'  him  "  it "  to  myself 
all  along,  so  'feerd  thet  ef  I  set  my  min'  on 
either  the  "  he  "  or  the  "  she  "  the  other  one 
might  take  a  notion  to  come  —  an'  I  did  n't 
want  any  disappointment  mixed  in  with 
the  arrival. 

But  now  he  's  come, —  an'  registered,  ez 
they  say  at  the  polls, —  I  know  I  sort  o' 
counted  on  the  boy,  some  way. 

Lordy!  but  he  's  little!  Ef  he  had  n't 
'a'  showed  up  so  many  of  his  functions 
spontaneous,  I  'd  be  oneasy  less'n  he  might 
n't  have  'em;  but  they  're  there!  Bless 
goodness,  they  're  there ! 


10  SONNY 

An'  he  snez  prezac'ly,  for  all  tlie  world, 
like  my  po'  ol'  pap  —  a  reg'lar  little  cat 
sneeze,  thess  like  all  the  Joneses. 

Well,  Mr.  Turkey,  befo'  I  go  back  into 
the  house,  I  'm  a-goin'  to  make  you  a  sol- 
emn promise. 

You  go  free  till  about  this  time  next 
year,  anyhow.  You  an'  me  '11  celebrate  the 
birthday  between  ourselves  with  that  con- 
trac'.  You  need  n't  git  oneasy  Thanksgiv- 
in',  or  picnic-time,  or  Easter,  or  no  other 
time  'twixt  this  an'  nex'  Christmas  —  less'n, 
of  co'se,  you  stray  off  an'  git  stole. 

An'  this  here  reprieve,  I  want  you  to  un- 
derstand, is  a  present  from  the  junior 
member  of  this  fii"m. 

Lord !  but  I  'm  that  tickled !  This  here 
wood  ain't  much  needed  in  the  house, — 
the  wood-boxes  're  all  full, — but  I  can't  de- 
vise  no  other  excuse  for  vacatin' — thess  at 
this  time. 

S'pose  I  miglit  gether  up  some  eggs  out 
'n  the  nestes,  but  it  'd  look  sort  o'  flighty  to 
go  egg-huntin'  here  at  midnight  —  an'  he 
not  two  hours  ol'. 

I   dunno,  either,  come  to  think;    she 


A  CHEISTMAS  GUEST  11 

might  need  a  new-laid  egg  —  sof  b'iled. 
Reckon  I  'U  take  a  couple  in  my  hands 
—  an'  one  or  two  sticks  o'  wood  —  an' 
I  '11  di*aw  a  bucket  o'  water  too  —  an'  tote 
that  in. 

Goodness !  but  this  back  yard  is  bright 
ez  day !  Goin'  to  be  a  clair,  cool  night  — 
moon  out,  full  an'  white.  Ef  this  ain't  the 
stillest  stiUness ! 

Thess  sech  a  night,  for  all  the  world,  I 
reckon,  ez  the  fii'st  Christmas,  when  He 
come — 

When  shepherds  watched  their  flocks  by  night, 

All  seated  on  the  ground, 
The  angel  o'  the  Lord  come  down, 

An'  glory  shone  around — 

thess  like  the  hymn  says. 

The  whole  o'  this  back  yard  is  full  o' 
glory  this  minute.  Th'  ain't  nothin'  too 
low  down  an'  mean  for  it  to  shine  on,  nei- 
ther— not  even  the  well-pump  or  the  cattle- 
trough  —  'r  the  pig-pen  —  or  even  me. 

Thess  look  at  me,  covered  over  with  it ! 
An'  how  it  does  shine  on  the  roof  o'  the 
house  where  they  lay  —  her  an'  him ! 


12  SONNY 

I  suppose  that  roof  has  shined  that-a- 
way  frosty  nights  'fo'  to-night ;  but  some 
way  I  never  seemed  to  see  it. 

Don't  reckon  the  creakin'  o'  this  windlass 
could  disturb  her  —  or  him. 

Eeckon  I  might  go  turn  a  little  mo'  cot- 
ton-seed in  the  troughs  for  them  cows  — 
an'  put  some  extry  oats  out  for  the  mules 
an'  the  doctor's  mare  —  an'  onchain  Rover, 
an'  let  'im  stretch  'is  legs  a  little.  I  'd  like 
everything  on  the  place  to  know  he 's  come, 
an'  to  feel  the  diff'ence. 

Well,  now  I  '11  load  up  —  an'  I  do  hope 
nobody  won't  notice  the  redic'lousness  of  it. 

You  say  she 's  asleep,  doctor,  an'  th'  ain't 
nothin'  mo'  needed  to  be  did  —  an'  yo'  're 
goin' ! 

Don't,  for  gracious  sakes!  go,  doctor, 
an'  leave  me !  I  won't  know  what  on  top 
o'  the  round  earth  to  do,  ef  —  ef —  You 
know  she  —  she  might  wake  up  —  or  he ! 

You  say  Dicey  she  knows.  But  she  's 
on'y  a  nigger,  doctor.  Yes ;  I  know  she 's 
had  exper'ence  with  the  common  run  o' 
babies,  but  — 


A  CHRISTMAS  GUEST  13 

Lemme  go  an'  set  down  this  bucket,  an' 
lay  this  stick  o'  wood  on  the  fire,  an'  put 
these  eggs  down,  so 's  I  can  talk  to  you 
free-handed. 

Step  here  to  the  do',  doctor.  I  say,  doc, 
ef  it 's  a  question  o'  the  size  o'  yo'  bill,  you 
can  make  it  out  to  suit  yo'self  —  or,  I  '11 
tell  you  what  I  '11  do.  You  stay  right  along 
here  a  day  or  so  —  tell  to-morrer  or  nex' 
day,  anyhow  —  an'  I  '11  sen'  you  a  whole 
bale  o'  cotton  —  an'  you  can  sen'  back  any 
change  you  see  fit  —  or  none  —  or  none,  I 
say.  Or,  ef  you  'd  ruther  take  it  out  in 
pertaters  an'  corn  an'  sorghum,  thess  say 
so,  an'  how  much  of  each. 

But  ivhatf  "It  would  n't  be  right? 
Th'  ain't  no  use,"  you  say  ?  An'  you  '11  shore 
come  back  to-morrer  ?  Well.  But,  by  the 
way,  doctor,  did  you  know  to-day  was 
Christmas?  Of  co'se  I  might  've  knew 
you  did  —  but  I  never.  An'  now  it  seems 
to  me  like  Christmas,  an'  Fo'th  o'  July,  an' 
"Hail  Columbia,  happy  Ian',"  all  b'iled 
down  into  one  big  jubilee  ! 

But  tell  me,  doctor,  confidential  —  sh!— 
step  here  a  leetle  further  back  —  tell  me. 


14  SONNY 

don't  you  think  he  's  to  say  a  leetle  bit  un- 
dersized 1     Speak  out,  ef  he  is. 

Wh— how  'd  you  say  I  "Mejum,"  eh? 
Thess  mejum !  An'  they  do  come  even 
littler  yet  1  An'  you  say  mejum  babies  're 
thess  ez  liable  to  turn  out  likely  an'  strong 
ez  over-sizes,  eh  ?  Mh-hm !  Well,  I  reckon 
you  know  —  an'  maybe  the  less  they  have 
to  contend  with  at  the  start  the  better. 

Oh,  thanky,  doctor !  Don't  be  af eered  o' 
wrenchin'  my  wris' !  A  thousand  thankies ! 
Yo'  word  for  it,  he  's  a  fine  boy !  An' 
you  've  inspected  a  good  many,  an'  of  co'se 
you  know  —  yas,  yas !  Shake  ez  hard  ez 
you  like  —  up  an'  down  —  up  an'  down ! 

An'  now  I  '11  go  git  yo'  horse  —  an'  don't 
ride  'er  too  hard  to-night,  'cause  I  've  put 
a  double  po'tion  of  oats  in  her  trough 
awhile  ago.  The  junior  member  he  give 
instructions  that  everything  on  the  place 
was  to  have  a'  extry  feed  to-night  —  an'  of 
co'se  I  went  and  obeyed  orders. 

Now  —  'fo'  you  start,  doctor  —  I  ain't 
got  a  thing  stronger  'n  raspberry  corjal 
in  the  house  —  but  ef  you  '11  drink  a  glass 
o'  that  with  me  ?     (Of  co'se  he  will !) 


A  CHEISTMAS  GUEST  15 

She  made  this  'erself,  doctor  —  picked 
the  berries  an'  all  —  an'  I  raised  the  little 
sugar  thet  's  in  it.  Well,  good-night,  doc- 
tor !     To-morrer,  shore ! 

Sh-h  ! 

How  that  do'-latch  does  click !  Thess 
like  thunder ! 

Sh-h!  Dicey,  you  go  draw  yo'  pallet 
close-t  outside  the  do',  an'  lay  down  —  an' 
I  '11  set  here  by  the  fire  an'  keep  watch. 

How  my  ol'  stockin'-feet  do  tromp  !  Do 
lemme  hurry  an'  set  down !  Seem  like  this 
room  's  awful  rackety,  the  fire  a-poppin' 
an'  tumblin',  an'  me  breathin'  like  a  por- 
poise. Even  the  clock  ticks  ez  excited  ez  I 
feel.  Wonder  how  they  sleep  through  it  all ! 
But  they  do.  He  beats  her  a-snorin'  a'ready, 
blest  ef  he  don't !  Wonder  ef  he  knows 
he  's  born  into  the  world,  po'  little  thing ! 
I  reckon  not ;  but  they 's  no  tellin'.  Maybe 
that  's  the  one  thing  the  good  Lord  gives 
'em  to  know,  so  's  they  '11  realize  what  to 
begin  to  study  about  —  theirselves  an'  the 
world  —  how  to  fight  it  an'  keep  friends 
with  it  at  the  same  time.    Ef  I  could  gig- 


16  SONNY 

gle  an'  sigh  both  at  once-t,  seem  hke  I  'd 
be  relieved.  Somehow  I  feel  sort  o'  tight 
'roun'  the  heart  —  an'  wide  awake  an' — 

How  that  clock  does  travel — an'  how 
they  all  keep  time,  he  —  an'  she  —  an'  it  — 
an'  me  —  an'  the  fire  roa'in'  up  the  chim- 
bley,  playin'  a  tune  all  around  us  like  a' 
organ,  an'  he  —  an'  she  —  an'  he  —  an'  it — 
an'  he  —  an'  — 

Blest  ef  I  don't  hear  singing  —  an'  how 
white  the  moonlight  is !  They  's  angels 
all  over  the  house  — an'  their  robes  is 
breshin'  the  roof  whiles  they  sing  — 

His  head  had  fallen.    He  was  dreaming. 


THE  BOY 

'EEE  's  the  doctor,  now!    Hello, 
doc,  come  right  in ! 

Here  's  yo'  patient,  settin'  up 
on  the  po'ch,  big  ez  life;  but 
when  we  sent  for  you  this  mornin'  it  seemed 
thess  hit  an'  miss  whether  he  'd  come  thoo 
or  not. 

Thess  the  same  sort  o'  spells  he 's  had  all 
along,  doctor, —  seems  you  can't  never  see 
'im  in  one, —  all  brought  on  by  us  a-cross- 
in'  'im.  His  gran'ma  insisted  on  hidin' 
the  clock  when  he  wanted  it ;  but  I  reckon 
she  '11  hardly  resk  it  ag'in,  she 's  that  skeert. 
He  's  been  settin'  on  the  flo'  there  thess  the 
way  you  see  'im  now,  with  that  clock  ia  his 
lap,  all  mornin'. 

Of  co'se  it  thess  took  him  about  ten  min- 
utes to  bu'st  all  the  little  things  his  gran'ma 
give  him  to  play  with,  'n'  then  he  nachelly 
called  for  the  clock ;  'n'  when  she  was  n't 
2  w 


18  SONNY 

forthcomin'  immejate,  why,  he  thess  stiff- 
ened out  in  a  spell. 

Of  co'se  we  put  the  timepiece  into  his 
hands  quick  ez  we  could  onclinch  'em, 
an'  sent  for  you.  But  quick  ez  he  see  the 
clock,  he  come  thoo.  But  you  was  already 
gone  for,  then. 

His  gran'ma  she  got  consider'ble  fretted 
because  he  's  broke  off  the  long  han'  o'  the 
clock ;  but  I  don't  see  much  out  o'  the  way 
about  that.  Ef  a  person  thess  remembers 
thet  the  long  han'  is  the  short  han'  —  why, 
't  ain't  no  trouble. 

An'  she  does  make  'im  so  contented  an' 
happy!  Thess  look  at  his  face,  now !  What 
is  the  f  ace-vally  of  a  clock,  I  like  to  know, 
compared  to  that  ? 

But  of  co'se  the  ol'  lady  she  's  gettin'  on 
in  years,  and  then  she 's  my  wife  's  mother, 
which  makes  her  my  divec^  mother-in-law ; 
an'  so  I  'm  slow  to  conterdic'  anything  she 
says,  an'  I  guess  her  idees  o'  regulatin'  chil- 
dern  —  not  to  say  clocks  —  is  sort  o'  diff'r- 
ent  to  wife's  an'  mine.  She  goes  in  for 
reg'lar  discipline,  same  ez  she  got  an'  sur- 
vived in  her  day;  an'  of  co'se,  ez  Sonny 


THE  BOY  19 

come  to  her  ez  gran'son  the  same  day  he 
was  born  to  us  ez  plain  son,  we  never  like 
to  lift  our  voices  ag'in  anything  she  says. 

She  loves  him  thess  ez  well  ez  we  do, 
only  on  a  diifrent  plan.  She  give  him  the 
only  spankin'  he  's  ever  had — an'  the  only 
silver  cup. 

Even  wife  an'  me  we  had  diff'rent  idees 
on  the  subjec'  o'  Sonny's  raisin' ;  but  some- 
how, in  all  our  calculations,  we  never  seemed 
to  realize  that  he  ^d  have  idees. 

Why,  that  two-year-old  boy  settin'  there 
regulatin'  that  clock  war  n't  no  mo'  'n  to 
say  a  pink  spot  on  the  piller  'fo'  he  com- 
menced to  set  fo'th  his  idees,  and  he  ain't 
never  backed  down  on  no  principle  thet  he 
set  fo'th,  to  this  day. 

For  example,  wife  an'  me,  why,  we  argued 
back  an'  fo'th  consider'ble  on  the  subjec'  of 
his  meal-hours,  ez  you  might  say,  she  con- 
tendin'  for  promiskyus  refreshment  an'  me 
for  schedule  time. 

This,  of  co'se,  was  thess  projeckm^  'fo' 
the  new  boa'der  ac-chilly  arrived.  He  not 
bein'  here  yet,  we  did  n't  have  much  to  do 
hut  speculate  about  him. 


20  SONNY 

Lookin'  back'ards  now,  it  seems  to  me  we 
could  n't  'a'  had  nothin'  to  do,  day  or  night, 
'fo'  he  come. 

But,  ez  I  was  sayin',  she  was  for  meals 
at  all  hours,  an'  I  was  for  the  twenty-min- 
utes-f  or-ref  reshment  plan,  an'  we  discussed 
it  consider'ble,  me  always  knowin',  but 
never  lettin'  on,  thet  of  co'se  she,  havin' 
what  you  might  call  a  molopoly  on  the 
restaurant,  could  easy  have  things  her  own 
way,  ef  she  'd  choose. 

But,  sir,  from  the  time  he  looked  over 
that  bill  o'  fare  an'  put  his  finger  on  what 
he  'd  have,  avD  when,  that  boy  ain't  never 
failed  to  call  for  it,  an'  get  it,  day  'r  night. 

But,  talkin'  'bout  the  clock,  it  did  seem 
funny  for  him  to  keep  her  goin'  'thout  no 
key. 

But  somehow  he  'd  work  it  thet  that 
alarm  'd  go  off  in  the  dead  hours  o'  night, 
key  or  no  key,  an'  her  an'  me  we  'd  jump 
out  o'  bed  like  ez  ef  we  was  shot;  and  do 
you  b'lieve  thet  that  baby,  not  able  to  talk, 
an'  havin'  on'y  half  'is  teeth,  he  ain't  never 
failed  to  wake  up  an'  roa'  out  a-laughin' 
ever'  time  that  clock  'd  go  off  in  the  night ! 


THE  BOY  21 

Why,  sir,  it 's  worked  on  me  so,  sometimes, 
thet  I  've  broke  out  in  a  coP  sweat,  an'  set 
Tip  the  balance  o'  the  night  ■ —  an'  I  ain't  to 
say  high-strung,  neither. 

No,  sir,  we  ain't  never  named  'im  yet. 
Somehow,  we  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  con- 
fine ourselves  to  no  three  or  four  names 
for  'im,  for  so  we  thess  decided  to  let  it  run 
along  so  — ■  he  thess  goin'  by  the  name  o' 
"  Sonny  "  tell  sech  a  time  ez  he  sees  fit  to 
name  'isself. 

Of  co'se  I  sort  o'  ca'culate  on  him  takin' 
the  "  Junior,"  an'  lettin'  me  tack  a  capital 
"  S"  an'  a  little  "r"  to  my  name  'fo'  I  die; 
which  would  nachelly  call  attention  to  him 
divec'  eve'y  time  I  'd  sign  my  signature. 

Deuteronomy  Jones  ain't  to  say  a  purty 
name,  maybe ;  but  it  's  scrip tu'al  —  so  far 
ez  my  parents  could  make  it.  Of  co'se  the 
Jones  —  well,  they  could  n't  help  that  no 
mo'  'n  I  can  help  it,  or  Sonny,  or  Ms  junior^ 
thet,  of  co'se,  may  never  be  called  on  to  ap- 
pear in  the  flesh.  Sonny  not  bein'  quite  thoo 
with  his  stomach-teeth  yet,  an'  bein'  sub- 
ject to  croup,  both  of  which  has  snapped 
off  many  a  fam'ly  tree  'fore  to-day.  But  I 
2* 


22  SONNY 

reckon  the  Joneses  ain't  suffered  much  that 
a-way.  I  doubt  ef  any  of  'em  has  ever  left 
'thout  passin'  the  name  on  —  not  knowin' 
positive,  but  thess  jedgin\  None  o'  mine 
ain't,  I  know,  leastwise  none  of  my  cHygg' 
ancestors  —  they  could  n't  have,  an'  me 
here,  an'  Sonny. 

DonH  jump,  doctor !  That  '^  the  supper- 
bell.  'T  is  purty  loud,  but  that 's  on  account 
o'  my  mother-in-law.  She  's  stone-deef  — 
can't  hear  thunder ;  but  I  told  wife  thet  I 
thought  we  owed  it  to  her  to  do  the  best 
we  could  to  reach  her,  and  I  had  that  bell 
made  a-purpose. 

Now,  some  men  they  'd  slight  a  mother- 
in-law  like  that,  an'  maybe  ring  a  dummy 
at  her ;  but  that 's  thess  where  I  differ.  I 
don't  forget  where  I  get  my  benefits,  an'  ef 
it  had  n't  'a'  been  for  her,  the  family  circle 
o'  Deuteronomy  Jones  would  be  quite  dif- 
f'rent  to  what  it  is.  She  's  handed  down 
some  of  Sonny's  best  traits  to  him,  too. 

I  don't  say  she  give  him  his  hearin', 
less'n  she  give  'm  all  she  had  —  which,  of 
co'se,  I  'm  thess  a-jokin',  which  is  a  sin,  an' 
her  stone-deef,  and  Sonny  thess  come  thoo 
a  death-spell ! 


THE  BOY  23 

Me  havin'  that  extry-sized  bell  made 
thess  out  of  respects  to  her  tickled  her 
mightily. 

Come  along,  Sonny !  He  heerd  the  bell, 
an'  he  knows  what  it  means.  That 's  right 
—  fetch  the  clock  along. 

Sonny's  cheer  is  toler'ble  low,  an'  he  's 
took  a  notion  to  set  on  the  clock  meal- 
times. I  thess  lay  'er  face  down'ards  in  his 
cheer,  'n'  I  don't  know  ez  it  hurts  her  any ; 
'n'  then  it  saves  the  dictionary,  too. 

She  did  strike  that  a-way  one  day,  and 
Sonny  was  so  tickled  he  purty  near  choked 
on  a  batter-cake,  he  laughed  so.  He  has 
broke  sev'ral  casters  tryin'  to  jostle  her  into 
doin'  it  again,  but  somehow  she  won't. 
Seem  like  a  clock  kin  be  about  ez  contrary 
ez  anything  else,  once  't  git  her  back  up. 

He  got  so  worked  up  over  her  not  strikin' 
that  a-way  one  day  thet  he  stiffened  out 
in  a  spell,  then  an'  there. 

You  say  they  ain't  apt  to  be  fatal,  doctor 
— them  spells  ? 

Well  —  but  you  ain't  never  saw  him  in 
one  yet.  They  're  reg'lar  death-spells, 
doctor. 


24  SONNY 

Tell  you  the  truth,  they  was  the  'casion 
of  us  j'inin'  the  church,  them  spells  was. 

Says  I  to  wife  —  standin'  beside  him  one 
day,  and  he  black  in  the  face  —  says  I, 
"  Wife,"  says  I,  "  I  reckon  you  an'  me  bet- 
ter try  to  live  mo'  righteously  'n'  what  we 
've  been  doin',  or  he  '11  be  took  from  us." 
An',  sir,  the  very  nex'  communion  we  both 
up  an'  perf essed.  An'  I  started  sayin'  grace 
at  table,  an'  lef  off  the  on'y  cuss-word  I 
ever  did  use,  which  was  "  durn."  An',  may- 
be I  ought  n't  to  say  it,  but  I  miss  that 
word  yet.  I  did  n't  often  call  on  it,  but  I 
always  knowed  't  was  there  when  needed, 
and  it  backed  me  up,  somehow  —  thess  the 
way  knowin'  I  had  a  frock-coat  in  the  press 
has  helped  me  wear  out  ol'  clo'es.  I  ain't 
never  had  on  that  frock-coat  sence  I  was 
married  in  it  seventeen  year  ago ;  but,  sir, 
ever  sence  I've  knew  the  moths  had  chawed 
it  up,  th'  ain't  been  a  day  but  I  've  felt 
shabby. 

Sir  ?  Yas,  sir ;  we  've  waited  a  long  time. 
It 's  seventeen  year,  come  this  spring,  sence 
we  married.  Our  first  child  could  easy  'a' 
been  sixteen  year  ol',  'stid  o'  two,  ef  Sonny 


THE  BOY  25 


'd  come  on  time,  but  he  ain't  never  been 
known  to  hm^y  hisself .  But  it  does  look 
like,  with  seventeen  year  for  reflection,  an' 
nothin'  to  do  but  study  up  other  folks's 
mistakes  with  their  childern,  we  ought  to 
be  able  to  raise  him  right.  Wife  an'  me  we 
fully  agree  upon  one  p'int,  'n'  that  is,  thet 
mo'  childern  'r'  sp'iled  thoo  bein'  crossed 
an'  hindered  'n  any  other  way.  Why,  sir, 
them  we  've  see'  grow  up  roun'  this  coun- 
try hev  been  fed  on  daily  rations  of 
"  dont's ! "  an'  "  stops ! "  an'  "  quits ! "  —  an' 
most  of  'em  brought  up  by  hand  at  that ! 

An'  so,  ez  I  say,  we  don't  never  cross 
Sonny,  useless.  Of  co'se  when  he  's  been 
sick  we  have  helt  his  little  nose  an'  insisted 
on  things ;  but  I  reckon  we  've  made  it  up 
to  him  afterwards,  so  's  he  would  n't  take 
it  amiss. 

Oh,  yas,  sir ;  he  called  me  "  daddy  "  his- 
self, 'n'  I  never  learned  it  to  him,  neither. 
I  was  layin'  out  to  learn  'im  to  say  "  papa" 
to  me,  in  time ;  but  I  'lowed  I  'd  hoi'  back 
tell  he  called  her  name  first.  Seemed  like 
that  was  her  right,  somehow,  after  all  thet 
had  passed  'twixt  him  an'  her ;  an'  in  all 


26  SONNY 

her  baby-talk  to  him  I  took  notice  she  'd 
bring  the  "mama"  in  constant. 

So  of  co'se  I  laid  low,  hopin'  some  day- 
he  'd  ketch  it  —  an'  he  did.  He  was  n't  no 
mo'  'n  'bout  three  months  ol'  when  he  said 
it ;  'n'  then,  'f o'  I  could  ketch  my  breath, 
hardly,  an  put  in  my  claim,  what  does  he 
do  but  square  aroun',  an',  lookin'  at  me  di- 
rect say  "  dada ! "  thess  like  that. 

There  's  the  secon'  bell,  doctor.  'Sh! 
Don't  ring  no  mo'.  Dicey !   We  're  a-comin' ! 

At  the  first  bell  the  roller-towel  an'  basin 
gen'ally  holds  a  reception ;  but  to-day  bein' 
Sunday  — 

What?  Can't  stay?  But  jon  must.  Quick 
ez  Sonny  come  thoo  this  mornin',  wife  took 
to  the  kitchen,  'cause,  she  says,  says  she, 
"  Likely  ez  not  the  doctor  '11  miss  his  din- 
ner on  the  road,  'n'  I  '11  turn  in  with  Dicey 
an'  see  thet  he  makes  it  up  on  supper." 

"Eat  an'  run?"  Why  not,  I  like  to 
know  ?  Come  on  out.  Wife 's  at  the  roller- 
towel  now,  and  she  '11  be  here  in  a  minute. 

Come  on.  Sonny.  Let  "  dada  "  tote  the 
clock  for  you.  No?  Wants  to  tote  'er 
hisself  ?    Well,  he  shall,  too. 


THE  BOY  27 

But  befo'  we  go  out,  doc,  say  that  over 
ag'in,  please. 

Yas,  I  understan'.  Quick  ez  he  's  took 
with  a  spell,  you  say,  th'ow  col'  water  in 
his  face,  an'  "  never  min'  ef  he  cries  "  1 

I  '11  try  it,  doctor;  but,  'twixt  me  an' 
you,  I  doubt  ef  anybody  on  the  lot  '11  have 
the  courage  to  douse  'im.  Maybe  we  might 
call  in  somebody  passin',  an'  git  them  to  do 
it.  But  for  the  rest,- — the  bath  an'  the 
mustard, —  of  co'se  it  shall  be  did  correct. 
You  see,  the  trouble  hez  always  been  thet 
befo'  we  could  git  any  physic  measured 
out,  he  come  thoo. 

Many  's  the  time  that  horse  hez  been 
saddled  to  sen'  for  you  befo'  to-day.  He 
thess  happened  to  get  out  o'  sight  to-day 
when  Sonny  seemed  to  feel  the  clock  in  his 
hands,  an"  he  come  thoo  'tliout  us  givin' 
him  anything  hut  the  clock  —  an'  it  ex- 
ternal. 

Walk  out,  doctor. 


SONNY'S  CHRISTENIN' 

iAS,  sir,  wife  an'  me,  we  've  turned 
'Piscopals  —  all  on  account  o' 
Sonny.  He  seemed  to  perf er  that 
religion,  an'  of  co'se  we  would  n't 
have  the  family  divided,  so  we  're  a-goin' 
to  be  ez  good  'Piscopals  ez  we  can. 

I  reckon  it  '11  come  a  little  bit  awkward 
at  first.  Seem  like  I  never  will  git  so  thet 
I  can  sass  back  in  church  'thout  feelin' 
sort  o'  impident  —  but  I  reckon  I  '11  chirp 
up  an'  come  to  it,  in  time. 

I  never  was  much  of  a  hand  to  sound 
the  amens,  even  in  our  own  Methodist 
meetin's. 

Sir?  How  old  is  he?  Oh,  Sonny 's  purty 
nigh  six — but  he  showed  a  pref'ence  for 
the  'Piscopal  Church  long  fo'  he  could 
talk. 

When  he  was  n't  no  mo'  'n  three  year 
old  we  commenced  a-takin'  him  round  to 

28 


SONNY'S   CHEISTENIN'  29 

church  wherever  they  held  meetin's, — 'Pis- 
copals,  Methodists  or  Presbyterians, — so 's 
he  could  see  an'  hear  for  hisself.  I  ca'yed 
him  to  a  baptizin'  over  to  Chinquepin 
Crik,  once-t,  when  he  was  three.  I  thought 
I  'd  let  him  see  it  done  an'  maybe  it  might 
make  a  good  impression ;  but  no,  sir !  The 
Baptists  did  n't  suit  him  !  Cried  ever'  time 
one  was  douced,  an'  I  had  to  fetch  him 
away.  In  our  Methodist  meetin's  he 
seemed  to  git  worked  up  an'  pervoked, 
some  way.  An'  the  Presbyterians,  he 
did  n't  take  no  stock  in  them  at  all.  Ricol- 
lect,  one  Sunday  the  preacher,  he  preached 
a  mighty  powerful  disco'se  on  the  doctrine 
o'  lost  infants  not  'lected  to  salvation  —  an' 
Sonny  ?     Why,  he  slep'  right  thoo  it. 

The  first  any  way  lively  interest  he  ever 
seemed  to  take  in  religious  services  was  at 
the  'Piscopals,  Easter  Sunday.  When  he 
seen  the  lilies  an'  the  candles  he  thess 
clapped  his  little  hands,  an'  time  the  folks 
commenced  answerin'  back  he  was  tickled 
all  but  to  death,  an'  started  answerin'  his- 
self —  on'y,  of  co'se  he  'd  answer  sort  o'  hit 
an'  miss. 


30  SONNY 

I  see  then  tliet  Sonny  was  a  natu'al- 
born  'Piscopal,  an'  we  might  ez  well  make 
up  our  minds  to  it  —  an'  I  told  her  so, 
too.  They  say  some  is  born  so.  But  we 
thought  we  'd  let  him  alone  an'  let  nature 
take  its  co'se  for  awhile  —  not  pressin' 
him  one  way  or  another.  He  never  had 
showed  no  disposition  to  be  christened, 
an'  ever  sence  the  doctor  tried  to  vacci- 
nate him  he  seemed  to  git  the  notion  that 
christenin'  an'  vaccination  was  mo'  or  less 
the  same  thing ;  an'  sence  that  time,  he  's 
been  mo'  opposed  to  it  than  ever. 

Sir  I  Oh  no,  sir.  He  did  n't  vaccinate 
him ;  he  thess  tried  to  do  it ;  but  Sonny,  he 
would  n't  begin  to  allow  it.  We  all  tried 
to  indoose  'im.  I  offered  him  everything 
on  the  farm  ef  he  'd  thess  roll  up  his  little 
sleeve  an' let  the  doctor  look  at  his  arm — 
promised  him  thet  he  would  n't  tech  a 
needle  to  it  tell  he  said  the  word.  But 
he  would  n't.  He  'lowed  thet  me  an'  his 
mama  could  git  vaccinated  ef  we  wanted 
to,  but  he  would  n't. 

Then  we  showed  him  our  marks  where 
we  had  been  vaccinated  when  we  was  lit- 


SONNY'S  CHRISTENIN'  31 

tie,  an'  told  him  how  it  had  kep'  us  clair  o' 
havin'  the  smallpock  all  our  lives. 

Well,  sir,  it  did  n't  make  no  difPence 
whether  we  'd  been  did  befo'  or  not,  he 
'lowed  thet  he  wanted  to  see  us  vaccinated 
ag'in. 

An'  so,  of  co'se,  thinkin'  it  might  en- 
coiu-'ge  him,  we  thess  had  it  did  over  — 
tryin'  to  coax  him  to  consent  after  each 
one,  an'  makin'  per  tend  like  we  enjoyed  it. 

Then,  nothin'  would  do  but  the  nigger, 
Dicey,  had  to  be  did,  an'  then  he  'lowed 
thet  he  wanted  the  cat  did,  an'  I  tried  to 
strike  a  bargain  with  him  thet  if  Kitty  got 
vaccinated  he  would.  But  he  would  n't 
comp'omise.  He  thess  let  on  thet  Kit  had 
to  be  did  whe'r  or  no.  So  I  ast  the  doctor 
ef  it  would  hkely  kill  the  cat,  an'  he  said 
he  reckoned  not,  though  it  might  sicken 
her  a  little.  So  I  told  him  to  go  ahead. 
Well,  sir,  befo'  Sonny  got  thoo,  he  had 
had  that  cat  an'  both  dogs  vaccinated  — 
but  let  it  tech  hisself  he  would  not. 

I  was  mighty  sorry  not  to  have  it  did, 
'cause  they  was  a  nigger  thet  had  the 
smallpock  down  to  Cedar  Branch,  fifteen 


32  SONNY 

mile  away,  an'  he  did  n't  die,  neither.  He 
got  well.  An'  they  say  when  they  git  well 
they  're  more  fatal  to  a  neighborhood  'n 
when  they  die. 

That  was  fo'  months  ago  now,  but  to 
this  day  ever'  time  the  wind  blows  from 
sou'west  I  feel  oneasy,  an'  try  to  entice 
Sonny  to  play  on  the  far  side  o'  the  house. 

Well,  sir,  in  about  ten  days  after  that 
we  was  the  down-in-the-mouthest  crowd 
on  that  farm,  man  an'  beast,  thet  you  ever 
see.  Ever'  last  one  o'  them  vaccinations 
took,  sir,  an'  took  severe,  from  the  cat  up. 

But  I  reckon  we  're  all  safe-t  guarded 
now.  They  ain't  nothin'  on  the  place  thet 
can  fetch  it  to  Sonny,  an'  I  trust,  with  care, 
he  may  never  be  exposed. 

But  I  set  out  to  tell  you  about  Sonny's 
christenin'  an'  us  turnin'  'Piscopal.  Ez  I 
said,  he  never  seemed  to  want  baptism, 
though  he  had  heard  us  discuss  all  his  life 
both  it  an'  vaccination  ez  the  two  ordeels 
to  be  gone  thoo  with  some  time,  an'  we  'd 
speculate  ez  to  whether  vaccination  would 
take  or  not,  an'  all  sech  ez  that,  an'  then, 
ez  I  said,  after  he  see  what  the  vaccination 


SONNY'S   CHRISTENIN'  33 

was,  why  he  was  even  mo'  prejudyced 
agin'  baptism  'n  ever,  an'  we  'lowed  to  let 
it  run  on  tell  sech  a  time  ez  he  'd  decide 
what  name  he  'd  want  to  take  an'  what 
denomination  he  'd  want  to  bestow  it  on 
him. 

Wife,  she 's  got  some  'Piscopal  relations 
that  she  sort  o'  looks  up  to, —  though  she 
don't  own  it, —  but  she  was  raised  Metho- 
dist an'  I  was  raised  a  true-blue  Presbyte- 
rian. But  when  we  professed  after  Sonny 
come  we  went  up  together  at  Methodist 
meetin'.  What  we  was  after  was  right- 
eous livin',  an'  we  did  n't  keer  much  which 
denomination  helped  us  to  it. 

An'  so,  feelin'  friendly  all  roun'  that-a- 
way,  we  thought  we  'd  leave  Sonny  to  pick 
his  church  when  he  got  ready,  an'  then 
they  would  n't  be  nothin'  to  undo  or  do 
over  in  case  he  went  over  to  the  'Pisco- 
pals,  which  has  the  name  of  revisin'  over 
any  other  church's  performances — though 
sence  we  've  turned  'Piscopals  we  've  found 
out  that  ain't  so. 

Of  co'se  the  preachers,  they  used  to  talk 
to  us  about  it  once-t  in  a  while, —  seemed 
3 


34  SONNY 

to  think  it  ought  to  be  did, — 'ceptin',  of 
co'se,  the  Baptists. 

Well,  sir,  it  went  along  so  till  last  week. 
Sonny  ain't  but,  ez  I  said,  thess  not  quite 
six  year  old,  an'  they  seemed  to  be  time 
enough.  But  last  week  he  had  been  play- 
in'  out  o'  doors  bare-feeted,  thess  same  ez 
he  always  does,  an'  he  tramped  on  a  pine 
splinter  some  way.  Of  co'se,  pine,  it 's  the 
safe-t-est  splinter  a  person  can  run  into  a 
foot,  on  account  of  its  carryin'  its  own  tur- 
pentine in  with  it  to  heal  up  things ;  but 
any  splinter  thet  dast  to  push  itself  up 
into  a  little  pink  foot  is  a  messenger  of 
trouble,  an'  we  know  it.  An'  so,  when  we 
see  this  one,  we  tried  ever'  way  to  coax 
him  to  let  us  take  it  out,  but  he  would  n't, 
of  co'se.  He  never  will,  an'  somehow  the 
Lord  seems  to  give  'em  ambition  to  work 
their  own  way  out  mos'  gen'ally. 

But,  sir,  this  splinter  did  n't  seem  to 
have  no  energy  in  it.  It  thess  lodged 
there,  an'  his  little  foot  it  commenced  to 
swell,  an'  it  swole  an'  swole  tell  his  little 
toes  stuck  out  so  thet  the  little  pig  thet 
went  to  market  looked  like  ez  ef  it  was  n't 


SONNY'S  CHRISTENIN'  35 

on  speakin'  terms  with  the  little  pig  thet 
stayed  home,  an'  wife  an'  me  we  watched 
it,  an'  I  reckon  she  prayed  over  it  consid- 
er'ble,  an'  I  read  a  extry  psalm  at  night 
befo'  I  went  to  bed,  all  on  account  o'  that 
little  foot.  An'  night  befo'  las'  it  was 
lookin'  mighty  angry  an'  swole,  an'  he  had 
limped  an'  "  ouched ! "  consider'ble  all  day, 
an'  he  was  mighty  fretful  bed-time.  So, 
after  he  went  to  sleep,  wife  she  come  out 
on  the  po'ch  where  I  was  settin',  and  she 
says  to  me,  says  she,  her  face  all  drawed  up 
an' workin',  says  she:  "Honey,"  says  she, "I 
reckon  we  better  sen'  for  him  an'  have  it 
did."  Thess  so,  she  said  it.  "Sen'  for 
who,  wife  ? "  says  I,  "  an'  have  what  did  ?  " 
"Why,  sen'  for  him,  the  'Piscopal 
preacher,"  says  she,  "  an'  have  Sonny  chris- 
tened. Them  little  toes  o'  hisn  is  ez  red 
ez  cherry  tomatoes.  They  burnt  my  lips 
thess  now  like  a  coal  o'  fire  an' —  an'  lock- 
jaw is  goin'  roun'  tm-'ble. 

"Seems  to  me,"  says  she,"whenhe  started 
to  git  sleepy,  he  did  n't  gap  ez  wide  ez  he 
gen'ly  does  —  an'  I  'm  'feered  he  's  a-git- 
tin'  it  now."    An',  sir,  with  that,  she  thess 


36  SONNY 

gathered  up  her  apron  an'  mopped  her 
face  in  it  an'  give  way.  An'  ez  for  me,  I 
did  n't  seem  to  have  no  mo'  backbone 
down  my  spinal  colume  'n  a  feather  bol- 
ster has,  I  was  that  weak. 

I  never  ast  her  why  she  did  n't  sen'  for 
our  own  preacher.  I  knowed  then  ez  well 
ez  ef  she  'd  'a'  told  me  why  she  done  it  — 
all  on  account  o'  Sonny  bein'  so  tickled 
over  the  'Piscopals'  meetin's. 

It  was  mos'  nine  o'clock  then,  an'  a  dark 
night,  an'  rainin',  but  I  never  said  a  word 
—  they  was  n't  no  room  round  the  edges  o' 
the  lump  in  my  throat  for  words  to  come 
out  ef  they  'd  'a'  been  one  surgin'  up  there 
to  say,  which  they  was  n't  —  but  I  thess 
went  out  an'  saddled  my  horse  an'  I  rid 
into  town.  Stopped  first  at  the  doctor's  an' 
sent  him  out,  though  I  knowed 't  would  n't 
do  no  good ;  Sonny  would  n't  'low  him  to 
tech  it ;  but  I  sent  him  out  anyway,  to  look 
at  it,  an',  ef  possible,  console  wife  a  little. 
Then  I  rid  on  to  the  rector's  an'  ast  him 
to  come  out  immejate  an'  baptize  Sonnyo 
But  nex'  day  was  his  turn  to  preach  down 
at  Sandy  Crik,  an'  he  could  n't  come  that 


SONNY'S  CHRISTENIN'  37 

night,  but  he  promised  to  come  right  after 
services  nex'  mornin' — which  he  done  — 
rid  the  whole  fo'teen  mile  from  Sandy 
Crik  here  in  the  rain,  too,  which  I  think  is 
a  evidence  o'  Christianity,  though  no  sech 
acts  is  put  down  in  my  book  o'  "evi- 
dences" where  they  ought  rightfully  to  be. 

Well,  sir,  when  I  got  home  that  night,  I 
found  wife  a  heap  cheerfuler.  The  doctor 
had  give  Sonny  a  big  apple  to  eat  an'  per- 
nounced  him  free  from  all  symptoms  o' 
lockjaw.  But  when  I  come  the  little  feller 
had  crawled  'way  back  under  the  bed  an' 
lay  there,  eatin'  his  apple,  an'  they  could  n't 
git  him  out.  Soon  ez  the  doctor  had  teched 
a  poultice  to  his  foot  he  had  woke  up  an' 
put  a  stop  to  it,  an'  then  he  had  went  off 
by  hisself  where  nothin'  could  n't  pester 
him,  to  enjoy  his  apple  in  peace.  An'  we 
never  got  him  out  tell  he  heered  us  tellin' 
the  doctor  good-night. 

I  tried  ever'  way  to  git  him  out  —  even 
took  up  a  coal  o'  fire  an'  poked  it  under  at 
him ;  but  he  thess  laughed  at  that  an'  helt 
his  apple  agin'  it  an'  made  it  sizz.  Well, 
sir,  he  seemed  so  tickled  thet  I  helt  that 
3* 


38  SONNY 

coal  o'  fire  for  him  tell  he  cooked  a  good 
big  spot  on  one  side  o'  the  apple,  an'  et  it, 
an'  then,  when  I  took  it  out,  he  called  for 
another,  but  I  did  n't  give  it  to  him.  I 
don't  see  no  use  in  over-indulgin'  a  child. 
An'  when  he  knowed  the  doctor  was  gone, 
he  come  out  an'  finished  roastin'  his  ap- 
ple by  the  fire  —  thess  what  was  left  of  it 
'round  the  co'e. 

Well,  sir,  we  was  mightily  comforted  by 
the  doctor's  visit,  but  nex'  mornin'  things 
looked  purty  gloomy  ag'in.  That  little  foot 
seemed  a  heap  worse,  an'  he  was  sort  o' 
flushed  an'  feverish,  an'  wife  she  thought 
she  heard  a  owl  hoot,  an'  Rover  made  a 
mighty  funny  gurgly  sound  in  his  th'oat 
like  ez  ef  he  had  bad  news  to  tell  us,  but 
did  n't  have  the  courage  to  speak  it. 

An'  then,  on  top  o'  that,  the  nigger 
Dicey,  she  come  in  an'  'lowed  she  had 
dreamed  that  night  about  eatin'  spare- 
ribs,  which  everybody  knows  to  dream 
about  fresh  pork  out  o'  season,  which  this 
is  July,  is  considered  a  shore  sign  o'  death. 
Of  co'se,  wife  an'  me,  we  don't  b'lieve  in 
no  sech  ez  that,  but  ef  you  ever  come  to 


SONNY'S  CHRISTENIN'  39 

see  yo'  little  feller's  toes  stand  out  the  way 
Sonny's  done  day  befo'  yesterday,  why,  sir, 
you  '11  be  ready  to  b'lieve  anything.    It 's 
so  much  better  now,  you  can't  judge  of 
its  looks  day  befo'  yesterday.    "We  never 
had  even  so  much  ez  considered  it  neces- 
sary thet  little  children  should  be  chris- 
tened to  have  'em  saved,  but  when  things 
got  on  the  ticklish  edge,  like  they  was 
then,  why,  we  felt  thet  the  safest  side  is 
the  wise  side,  an',  of  co'se,  we  want  Sonny 
to  have  the  best  of  everything.     So,  we 
was  mighty  thankful  when  we  see  the  rec- 
tor comin'.    But,  sir,  when  I  went  out  to 
open  the  gate  for  him,  what  on  top  o'  this 
round  hemisp'ere  do  you  reckon  Sonny 
done  1    Why,  sir,  he  thess  took  one  look 
at  the  gate  an'  then  he  cut  an'  run  hard  ez 
he  could  —  limped  acrost  the  yard  thess 
like  a  flash  o'  zig-zag  lightnin'— an'  'fore 
anybody  could  stop  him,  he  had  dumb 
to  the  tip  top  o'  the  butter-bean  arbor  — 
dumb  it  thess  like  a  cat — an'  there  he  set, 
a-swingin'  his  feet  under  him,  an'  laughin', 
the  rain  thess  a-streakin'  his  hair  all  over 
his  face. 


40  SONNY 

That  bean  arbor  is  a  favoryte  place  for 
him  to  escape  to,  'cause  it 's  too  high  to 
reach,  an'  it  ain't  strong  enough  to  bear  no 
grown-up  person's  weight. 

Well,  sir,  the  rector,  he  come  in  an' 
opened  his  valise  an'  'rayed  hisself  in  his 
robes  an'  opened  his  book,  an'  while  he 
was  turnin'  the  leaves,  he  faced  'round  an' 
says  he,  lookin'  at  me  c^irec',  says  he : 

"Let  the  child  be  brought  forward  for 
baptism,"  says  he,  thess  that-a-way. 

Well,  sir,  I  looked  at  wife,  an'  wife,  she 
looked  at  me,  an'  then  we  both  thess  looked 
out  at  the  butter-bean  arbor. 

I  knowed  then  thet  Sonny  was  n't  never 
comin'  down  while  the  rector  was  there, 
an'  rector,  he  seemed  sort  o'  fretted  for  a 
minute  when  he  see  how  things  was,  an' 
he  did  try  to  do  a  little  settin'  fo'th  of 
opinions.  He  'lowed,  speakin'  in  a  mighty 
pompious  manner,  thet  holy  things  was  n't 
to  be  trifled  with,  an'  thet  he  had  come  to 
baptize  the  child  accordin'  to  the  rites  o' 
the  church. 

Well,  that  sort  o'  talk,  it  thess  rubbed 
me  the  wrong  way,  an'  I  up  an'  told  him 


SONNY'S  CHEISTENIN'  41 

thet  that  might  be  so,  but  thet  the  rites  o' 
the  church  did  n't  count  for  nothin',  on  our 
farm,  to  the  rights  o'  the  boy ! 

I  reckon  it  was  mighty  disrespec'ful  o' 
me  to  face  him  that-a-way,  an'  him  adorned 
in  all  his  robes,  too,  but  I  'm  thess  a  plain 
up-an'-down  man  an'  I  had  n't  went  for 
him  to  come  an'  baptize  Sonny  to  uphold 
the  granjer  of  no  church.  I  was  ready  to 
do  that  when  the  time  come,  but  right 
now  we  was  workin'  in  Sonny's  interests, 
an'  I  intended  to  have  it  understood  that 
way.     An'  it  was. 

Rector,  he 's  a  mighty  good,  kind-hearted 
man,  git  down  to  the  man  inside  the 
preacher,  an'  when  he  see  thess  how  things 
stood,  why,  he  come  'round  friendly,  an'  he 
went  out  on  the  po'ch  an'  united  with 
us  in  tryin'  to  help  coax  Sonny  down. 
First  started  by  promisin'  him  speritual 
benefits,  but  he  soon  see  that  was  n't  no 
go,  and  he  tried  worldly  persuasion ;  but 
no,  sir,  stid  o'  him  comin'  down,  Sonny 
started  orderin'  the  rest  of  us  christened 
thess  the  way  he  done  about  the  vaccina- 
tion.   But,  of  co'se,  we  had  been  baptized 


42  SONNY 

befo',  an'  we  nachelly  helt  out  agin'  that 
for  some  time.  But  d'rec'ly  rector,  lie 
seemed  to  have  a  sudden  idee,  an'  says  he, 
facin'  'round,  church-like,  to  wife  an'  me, 
says  he: 

"  Have  you  both  been  baptized  accordin' 
to  the  rites  o'  the  church  ? " 

An'  me,  thinkin'  of  co'se  he  meant  the 
'Piscopal  Church,  says:  "No,  sir,"  says  I, 
thess  so.  And  then  we  see  that  the  way 
was  open  for  us  to  be  did  over  ag'in  ef  we 
wanted  to.  So,  sir,  wife  an'  me  we  was 
took  into  the  church,  then  an'  there.  We 
would  n't  a  yielded  to  him,  thoo  an'  thoo, 
that-a-way  ag'in  ef  his  little  foot  had  n't 
a'  been  so  swole,  an'  he  maybe  takin'  his 
death  o'  cold  settin'  out  in  the  po'in'-down 
rain ;  but  things  bein'  as  they  was,  we  went 
thoo  it  with  all  due  respects. 

Then  he  commenced  callin'  for  Dicey, 
an'  the  dog,  an'  the  cat,  to  be  did,  same  ez 
he  done  befo' ;  but,  of  co'se,  they  's  some 
liberties  thet  even  a  innocent  child  can't 
take  with  the  waters  o'  baptism,  an'  the 
rector  he  got  sort  o'  wo'e-out  and  disgusted 
an'  'lowed  thet  'less'n  we  could  get  the 


SONNY'S  CHRISTENIN'  43 

child  ready  for  baptism  he  'd  haf  to  go 
home. 

Well,  sir,  I  knowed  we  would  n't  never 
git  'im  down,  an'  I  had  went  for  the  rector 
to  baptize  him,  an'  I  intended  to  have  it 
did,  ef  possible.  So,  says  I,  turnin'  'round 
an'  facin'  him  square,  says  I:  "Rector," 
says  I,  "why  not  baptize  him  where  he  is! 
I  mean  it.  The  waters  o'  Heaven  are  de- 
scendin'  upon  him  where  he  sets,  an'  seems 
to  me  ef  he  's  favo'bly  situated  for  any- 
thing it  is  for  baptism."  Well,  parson,  he 
thess  looked  at  me  up  an'  down  for  a  min- 
ute, like  ez  ef  he  s'picioned  I  was  wander- 
in'  in  my  mind,  but  he  did  n't  faze  me.  I 
thess  kep'  up  my  argiment.  Says  I:  "  Par- 
son," says  I,  speakin'  thess  ez  ca'm  ez  I  am 
this  minute — " Parson,"  says  I,  "his  httle 
foot  is  mighty  swole,  an'  so'e,  an'  that 
splinter — thess  s'pose  he  was  to  take  the 
lockjaw  an'  die — don't  you  reckon  you 
might  do  it  where  he  sets  —  from  where 
you  stand!" 

Wife,  she  was  cryin'  by  this  time,  an' 
parson,  he  claired  his  th'oat  an'  coughed, 
an'  then  he  commenced  walkin'  up  an' 


44  SONNY 

down,  an'  treckly  he  stopped,  an'  says  he, 
speakin'  mighty  reverential  an'  serious: 

"  Lookin'  at  this  case  speritually,  an'  as 
a  minister  o'  the  Gospel,"  says  he,  "it  seems 
to  me  thet  the  question  ain't  so  much  a 
question  of  doin'  ez  it  is  a  question  of  with- 
}ioldin\  I  don't  know,"  says  he,  "  ez  I  've 
got  a  right  to  withhold  the  sacrament  o' 
baptism  from  a  child  under  these  circum- 
stances or  to  deny  sech  comfort  to  his 
parents  ez  lies  in  my  power  to  bestow." 

An',  sir,  with  that  he  stepped  out  to  the 
end  o'  the  po'ch,  opened  his  book  ag'in,  an' 
holdin'  up  his  right  hand  to'ards  Sonny, 
settin'  on  top  o'  the  bean-arbor  in  the  rain, 
he  commenced  to  read  the  service  o'  bap- 
tism, an'  we  stood  proxies  —  which  is  a 
sort  o'  a  dummy  substitutes  —  for  what- 
ever godfather  an'  mother  Sonny  see  fit  to 
choose  in  after  life. 

Parson,  he  looked  half  like  ez  ef  he  'd 
laugh  once-t.  When  he  had  thess  opened 
his  book  and  started  to  speak,  a  sudden 
streak  o'  sunshine  shot  out  an'  the  rain 
started  to  ease  up,  an'  it  looked  for  a  min- 
ute ez  ef  he  was  goin'  to  lose  the  baptismal 


SONNY'S  CHRISTENIN'  45 

waters.  But  d'rec'ly  it  come  down  stiddy 
ag'in  an  he'  went  thoo  the  programme  en- 
tire. 

An'  Sonny,  he  behaved  mighty  purty ; 
set  up  perfec'ly  ca'm  an'  composed  thoo 
it  all,  an'  took  everything  in  good  part, 
though  he  did  n't  p'intedly  know  who  was 
bein'  baptized,  'cause,  of  co'se,  he  could  n't 
hear  the  words  with  the  rain  in  his  ears. 

He  did  n't  rightly  sense  the  situation 
tell  it  come  to  the  part  where  it  says: 
"  Name  this  child,"  and,  of  co'se,  I  called 
out  to  Sonny  to  name  hisself ,  which  it  had 
always  been  our  intention  to  let  him  do. 

"  Name  yo'self ,  right  quick,  like  a  good 
boy,"  says  I. 

Of  co'se  Sonny  had  all  his  life  heered 
me  say  thet  I  was  Deuteronomy  Jones,  Se- 
nior, an'  thet  I  hoped  some  day  when  he 
got  christened  he  'd  be  the  junior.  He 
knowed  that  by  heart,  an'  would  agree  to 
it  or  dispute  it,  'cordin'  to  how  the  notion 
took  him,  and  I  sort  o'  ca'culated  thet  he  'd 
out  with  it  now.  But  no,  sir !  Not  a  word ! 
He  thess  soo  up  on  thet  bean-arbor  an' 
grinned. 


46  SONNY 

An'  SO,  feelin'  put  to  it,  with  the  services 
suspended  over  my  head,  I  spoke  up,  an'  I 
says :  "Parson,"  says  I,  "I  reckon  ef  lie  was 
to  speak  his  little  heart,  he  'd  say  Deuter- 
onomy Jones,  Junior."  An'  with  thet  what 
does  Sonny  do  but  conterdic'  me  flat !  "  No, 
not  Junior !  I  want  to  be  named  Deuter- 
onomy Jones,  Senior ! "  says  he,  thess  so. 
An'  parson,  he  looked  to'ards  me,  an'  I 
bowed  my  head  an'  he  pernounced  thess 
one  single  name,  "  Deuteronomy,"  an'  I  see 
he  was  n't  goin'  to  say  no  more  an'  so  I 
spoke  up  quick,  an'  says  I:  "Parson," 
says  I,  "he  has  spoke  his  heart's  desire. 
He  has  named  hisself  after  me  entire  — 
Deuteronomy  Jones,  Senior." 

An'  so  he  was  obligated  to  say  it,  an'  so 
it  is  writ  in  the  family  record  colume  in  the 
big  Bible,  though  I  spelt  his  Senior  with  a 
little  s,  an'  writ  him  down  ez  the  only  son 
of  the  Senior  with  the  big  S,  which  it 
seems  to  me  fixes  it  about  right  for  the 
time  bein'. 

Well,  when  the  rector  had  got  thoo  an' 
he  had  wropped  up  his  robes  an'  put  'em 
in  his  wallet,  an'  had  told  us  to  prepare 


SONNY'S  CHRISTENIN'  47 

for  conformation,  he  pernounced  a  blessin' 
upon  us  an'  went. 

An'  then  Sonny  seein'  it  was  all  over,  he 
come  down.  He  was  wet  ez  a  drownded 
rat,  but  wife  rubbed  him  off  an'  give  him 
some  hot  tea  an'  he  come  a-snuggin'  up  in 
my  lap,  thess  ez  sweet  a  child  ez  you  ever 
see  in  yo'  life,  an'  I  talked  to  him  ez  fa- 
therly ez  I  could,  told  him  we  was  all  'Pis- 
copals  now,  an'  soon  ez  his  little  foot  got 
well  I  was  goin'  to  take  him  out  to  Sun- 
day-school to  tote  a  banner  —  all  his  little 
'Piscopal  friends  totes  banners  —  an'  thet 
he  could  pick  out  some  purty  candles  for 
the  altar,  an'  he  'lowed  immejate  thet  he  'd 
buy  pink  ones.  Sonny  always  was  death 
on  pink  —  showed  it  from  the  time  he 
could  snatch  a  pink  rose  —  an'  wife  she 
ain't  never  dressed  him  in  nothin'  else. 
Ever'  pair  o'  little  breeches  he  's  got  is 
either  pink  or  pink-trimmed. 

Well,  I  talked  along  to  him  till  I  worked 
'round  to  shamin'  him  a  little  for  havin'  to 
be  christened  settin'  up  on  top  a  bean-ar- 
bor, same  ez  a  crow-bird,  which  I  told  him 
the  parson  he  would  n't  'a'  done  ef  he  'd  'a' 


48  SONNY 

felt  free  to  've  left  it  undone.  'T  was  n't 
to  indulge  him  he  done  it,  but  to  bless  him 
an'  to  comfort  our  hearts.  Well,  after  I 
had  reasoned  with  him  severe  that-a-way 
a  while,  he  says,  says  he,  thess  ez  sweet 
an'  mild,  says  he,  "  Daddy,  nex'  time  y  'all 
gits  christened,  I  '11  come  down  an'  be  chris- 
tened right  —  like  a  good  boy." 

Th'  ain't  a  sweeter  child  in'ardly  'n  what 
Sonny  is,  nowheres,  git  him  to  feel  right 
comf'table,  an'  I  know  it,  an'  that 's  why  I 
have  patience  with  his  little  out'ard  ways. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  says  he ;  "  nex'  time  I  '11  be 
christened  like  a  good  boy." 

Then,  of  co'se,  I  explained  to  him  thet 
it  could  n't  never  be  did  no  mo',  'cause  it 
had  been  did,  an'  did  'Piscopal,  which  is 
secure.  An'  then  what  you  reckon  the  lit- 
tle feller  said? 

Says  he,  "  Yes,  daddy,  but  s^posHn^  mine 
donH  take.    How  'bout  that  ? " 

An'  I  did  n't  try  to  explain  no  further. 
What  was  the  use  ?  Wife,  she  had  drawed 
a  stool  close-t  up  to  my  knee,  an'  set  there 
sortin'  out  the  little  yaller  rings  ez  they  'd 
dry  out  on  his  head,  an'  when  he  said  that 


SONNY'S  CHRISTENIN'  49 

I  thess  looked  at  her  an'  we  both  looked 
at  him,  an'  says  I,  "Wife,"  says  I,  "ef 
they  's  anything  in  heavenly  looks  an'  be- 
havior, I  b'heve  that  christenin'  is  started 
to  take  on  him  a'ready." 
An'  I  b'lieve  it  had. 


SONNY'S   SCHOOLIN' 

A  MONOLOGUE 

[ELL,  sir,  we  're  tryin'  to  edjer- 
cate  him  —  good  ez  we  can. 
Th'  ain't  never  been  a  edjerca- 
tional  advantage  come  in  reach 
of  us  but  we  've  give  it  to  him.  Of  co'se 
he 's  all  we  've  got,  that  one  boy  is,  an'  wife 
an'  me,  why,  we  feel  the  same  way  about  it. 
They  's  three  schools  in  the  county,  not 
countin'  the  niggers',  an'  we  send  him  to 
all  three. 

Sir  ?  Oh,  yas,  sir ;  he  b'longs  to  all 
three  schools  —  to  fo\  for  that  matter, 
countin'  the  home  school. 

You  see.  Sonny  he  's  purty  ticklish  to 
handle,  an'  a  person  has  to  know  thess  how 
to  tackle  him.  Even  wife  an'  me,  thet  's 
been  knowin'  him  f'om  the  beginnin',  not 
only  knowin'  his  traits,  but  how  he  come  by 
'em, —  though  some  is  hard  to  trace  to  their 

50 


SONNY'S  SCHOOLIN'  51 

so'ces, —  why,  sir,  even  we  have  to  study 
sometimes  to  keep  in  with  him,  an'  of  co'se 
a  teacher  —  why,  it  's  thess  hit  an'  miss 
whether  he  '11  take  the  right  tack  with  him 
or  not ;  an'  sometimes  one  teacher  'U  strike 
it  one  day,  an'  another  nex'  day ;  so  by 
payin'  schoolin'  for  him  right  along  in  all 
three,  why,  of  co'se,  ef  he  don't  feel  like 
goin'  to  one,  why,  he  '11  go  to  another. 

Once-t  in  a  while  he  '11  git  out  with  the 
whole  of  'em,  an'  that  was  how  wife  come 
to  open  the  home  school  for  him.  She 
was  determined  his  edjercation  should  n't 
be  interrupted  ef  she  could  help  it.  She 
don't  encour'ge  him  much  to  go  to  her 
school,  though,  'cause  it  interrupts  her  in 
her  housekeepin'  consider'ble,  an'  she  's 
had  extry  quilt-patchin'  on  hand  ever  since 
he  come.  She  's  patchin'  him  a  set  'ginst 
the  time  he  '11  marry. 

An'  then  I  reckon  he  frets  her  a  good 
deal  in  school.  Somehow,  seems  like  he 
thess  picks  up  enough  in  the  other  schools 
to  be  able  to  conterdic'  her  ways  o'  teachin'. 

F'  instance,  in  addin'  up  a  colume  o' 
figgers,  ef  she  comes  to  a  aught  —  which 


52  SONNY 

some  calls  'em  naughts  —  she  '11  say, 
"  Aught 's  a  aught,"  an'  Sonny  ain't  been 
learned  to  say  it  that  a-way  ;  an'  so  maybe 
when  she  says,  "  Aught  's  a  aught,"  he  '11 
say,  "  Who  said  it  was  n't  ? "  an'  that  puts 
her  out  in  countin.' 

He  's  been  learned  to  thess  pass  over 
aughts  an'  not  call  their  names;  and  once-t 
or  twice-t,  when  wife  called  'em  out  that 
a-way,  why,  he  got  so  fretted  he  thess  geth- 
ered  up  his  things  an'  went  to  another 
school.  But  seem  like  she 's  added  aughts 
that  a-way  so  long  she  can't  think  to  add 
'em  no  other  way. 

I  notice  nights  after  she  's  kept  school 
for  Sonny  all  day  she  talks  consider'ble  in 
her  sleep,  an'  she  says,  "  Aught 's  a  aught" 
about  ez  often  ez  she  says  anything  else. 

Oh,  yas,  sir ;  he 's  had  consider'ble  fusses 
with  his  teachers,  one  way  an' another,  but 
they  ever'  one  declare  they  think  a  heap 
of  'im. 

Sir  ?  Oh,  yas,  sir ;  of  co'se  they  all  draw 
their  reg'lar  pay  whether  he  's  a  day  in 
school  du'in'  the  month  or  not.  That  's 
right  enough,  'cause  you  see  they  don't 


SONNY'S   SCHOOLIN'  53 

know  what  day  he  's  li'ble  to  drop  in  on 
'em,  an'  it  's  worth  the  money  thess  a- 
keepin'  their  nerves  strung  for  'im. 

Well,  yas,  sir;  't  is  toler'ble  expensive, 
lookin'  at  it  one  way^  but  lookin'  at  it  an- 
other, it  don't  cost  no  mo'  'n  what  it  would 
to  edjercate  three  child'en,  which  many 
poor  families  have  to  do — ari'  more — which 
in  our  united  mind  Sonny's  worth  'em  all. 

Yas,  sir;  't  is  confusin'  to  him  in  some 
ways,  gom'  to  all  three  schools  at  once-t. 

F'  instance,  Miss  Alviry  Sawyer,  which 
she  's  a  single-handed  maiden  lady  'bout 
wife's  age,  why,  of  co'se,  she  teaches  ac- 
cordin'  to  the  old  rules ;  an'  in  learnin'  the 
child'en  subtraction,  f  instance,  she  '11  tell 
'em,  ef  they  run  short  to  borry  one  f'om 
the  nex'  lef  han'  top  figur',  an'  pay  it  back 
to  the  feller  underneath  him. 

Well,  this  did  n't  suit  Sonny's  sense  o' 
jestice  no  way,  borryin'  from  one  an'  payin' 
back  to  somebody  else ;  so  he  thess  up  an 
argued  about  it  —  told  her  thet  fellers  thet 
borried  nickels  f'om  one  another  could  n't 
pay  back  that  a~way ;  an'  of  co'se  she  told 
hini  they  was  heap  o'  difference  'twix' 
4* 


54  SONNY 

money  and  'rithmetic  —  which  I  wish't  they 
was  more  in  my  experience;  an'  so  they 
had  it  hot  and  heavy  for  a  while,  till  at  last 
she  explained  to  him  thet  that  way  of  doin' 
subtraction  fetched  the  answer^  which,  of 
co'se,  ought  to  satisfy  any  school-boy ;  an' 
1  reckon  Sonny  would  soon  'a'  settled  into 
that  way  'ceptin'  thet  he  got  out  o'  patience 
with  that  school  in  sev'al  ways,  an'  he  left 
an'  went  out  to  Sandy  Crik  school,  and  it 
thess  happened  that  he  struck  a  subtrac- 
tion class  there  the  day  he  got  in,  an'  they 
was  workin'  it  the  other  way  — ■  borry  one 
from  the  top  figur'  an'  never  pay  it  back 
at  all,  thess  count  it  off  (that 's  the  way  I 
've  worked  my  lifelong  subtraction,  though 
wife  does  hers  payin'  back),  an'  of  co'se 
Sonny  was  ready  to  dispute  this  way,  an' 
he  did  n't  have  no  mo'  tac'  than  to  th'ow 
up  Miss  Alviry's  way  to  the  teacher,  which 
of  co'se  he  would  n't  stand,  particular  ez 
Miss  Alviry  's  got  the  biggest  school.     So 
they  broke  up  in  a  row,  immejate,  and 
Sonny  went  right  along  to  Miss  Kellog's 
school  down  here  at  the  cross-roads. 
She  's  a  sort  o'  reformed  teacher,  I  take 


SONNY'S  SCHOOLIN'  55 

it;  an'  she  gets  at  her  subtraction  by  a 
new  route  altogether  —  like  ez  ef  the  first 
feller  thet  had  any  surplus  went  sort  o' 
security  for  them  thet  was  short,  an'  passed 
the  loan  down  the  line.  But  I  noticed  he 
never  got  his  money  back,  for  when  they 
come  to  him,  why,  they  docked  him.  I 
reckon  goin'  security  is  purty  much  the 
same  in  an  out  o'  books.  She  passes  the 
borryin'  along  some  way  till  it  gits  to  head- 
quarters, an'  wi'ites  a  new  row  o'  figur's 
over  the  heads  o'  the  others.  Well,  my  old 
brain  got  so  addled  watchin'  Sonny  work 
it  thet  I  did  n't  seem  to  know  one  figur' 
f  om  another  'f o'  he  got  thoo ;  but  when  I 
see  the  answer  come,  why,  I  was  satisfied. 
Ef  a  man  can  thess  git  his  answers  right 
all  his  life,  why  nobody  ain't  a-goin'  to  pes- 
ter him  about  how  he  worked  his  figur's. 

I  did  try  to  get  Sonny  to  stick  to  one 
school  for  each  rule  in  'rithmetic,  an'  bav- 
in* thess  fo'  schools,  why  he  could  learn 
each  o'  the  fo'  rules  by  one  settled  plan. 
But  he  won't  promise  nothin'.  He  '11  quit 
for  lessons  one  week,  and  maybe  next 
week  somethin'  else  '11  decide  him.    (He  's 


56  SONNY 

quit  ever'  one  of  'em  in  turn  when  they 
come  to  long  division.)  He  went  thoo  a 
whole  week  o'  disagreeable  lessons  once-t 
at  one  school  'cause  he  was  watchin'  a 
bird-nest  on  the  way  to  that  school.  He 
was  determined  them  young  birds  was  to 
be  allowed  to  leave  that  nest  without  bein' 
pestered,  an'  they  stayed  so  long  they  purty 
nigh  run  him  into  long  division  'fo'  they 
did  fly.  Ef  he  'd  'a'  missed  school  one  day 
he  knowed  two  sneaky  chaps  thet  would 
'a'  robbed  that  nest,  either  goin'  or  comin'. 

Of  co'se  Sonny  goes  to  the  exhibitions 
an'  picnics  of  all  the  schools.  Last  sum- 
mer we  had  a  time  of  it  when  it  come  pic- 
nic season.  Two  schools  set  the  same  day 
for  theirs,  which  of  co'se  was  n't  no  ways 
fair  to  Sonny.  He  payin'  right  along  in 
all  the  schools,  of  co'se  he  was  entitled  to 
all  the  picnics;  so  I  put  on  my  Sunday 
clo'es,  an'  I  went  down  an'  had  it  fixed  right. 
They  all  wanted  Sonny,  too,  come  down  to 
the  truth,  'cause  besides  bein'  fond  of  him, 
they  knowed  thet  Sonny  always  fetched  a 
big  basket. 

Trouble  with  Sonny  is  thet  he  don't  take 


SONNY'S   SCHOOLIN'  57 

nothin'  on  nobody's  say-so,  don't  keer  who 
it  is.  He  even  commenced  to  dispute  Moses 
one  Sunday  when  wife  was  readin'  the 
Holy  Scriptures  to  him,  tell  of  co'se  she 
made  him  understand  thet  that  would  n't 
do.  Moses  did  n't  intend  to  he  conterdicted. 

An'  ez  to  secular  lessons,  he  ain't  got  no 
respec'  for  'em  whatsoever.  F'  instance, 
when  the  teacher  learned  him  thet  the 
world  was  round,  why  he  up  an'  told  him 
H  war  n't  so,  less'n  we  was  on  the  inside  an' 
it  was  blue-lined,  which  of  co'se  teacher  he 
insisted  thet  we  was  on  the  outside,  walkin' 
over  it,  all  feet  todes  the  center  —  a  thing 
I  've  always  thought  myself  was  mo'  easy 
said  than  proved. 

"Well,  sir,  Sonny  did  n't  hesitate  to  deny 
it,  an'  of  co'se  teacher  he  commenced  by 
givin'  him  a  check  —  which  is  a  bad  mark 
—  for  conterdictin'.  An'  then  Sonny  he 
'lowed  thet  he  did  n't  conterdic'  to  he  a- 
conterdictin',  but  he  knowed  't  war  n't  so. 
He  had  walked  the  whole  len'th  o'  the  road 
'twix'  the  farm  an'  the  school-house,  an' they 
war  n't  no  bidge  in  it;  an'  besides,  he  had 
n't  never  saw  over  the  edges  of  it. 


5 


58  SONNY 

An'  with  that  teacher  he  give  him  an 
other  check  for  speakin'  out  o'  turn.  An 
then  Sonny,  says  he,  "  Ef  a  man  was  tall 
enough  he  could  see  around  the  edges, 
could  n't  he?"  "No,"  says  the  teacher; 
"a  man  could  n't  grow  that  tall,"  says  he; 
"  he  'd  be  deformed." 

An'  Sonny,  why,  he  spoke  up  again,  an' 
says  he,  "  But  I  'm  thess  a-sayin'  e/"  says 
he.  "An'  teacher,"  says  he, "  we  ain't  a-study- 
in'  efs;  we  're  studyin'  geoger'phy."  And 
then  Sonny  they  say  he  kep'  still  a  minute, 
an'  then  he  says,  says  he,  "  Oh,  maybe  he 
could  n't  see  over  the  edges,  teacher,  'cause 
ef  he  was  tall  enough  his  head  might  reach 
up  into  the  flo'  o'  heaven."  And  with  that 
teacher  he  give  him  another  check,  an'  told 
him  not  to  dare  to  mix  up  geoger'phy  an' 
religion,  which  was  a  sackerlege  to  both 
studies ;  an'  with  that  Sonny  gethered  up 
his  books  an'  set  out  to  another  school. 

I  think  myself  it  'u'd  be  thess  ez  well  ef 
Sonny  was  n't  quite  so  quick  to  conter- 
die' ;  but  it 's  thess  his  way  of  holdin'  his 
p'int. 

Why,  one  day  he  faced  one  o'  the  teach- 


SONNY'S   SCHOOLIN'  59 

ers  down  thet  two  an'  two  did  n't  hafio 
make/o',  wh'er  or  no. 

This  seemed  to  tickle  the  teacher  might- 
ily, an'  so  he  laughed  an'  told  him  he  was 
goin'  to  give  him  rope  enough  to  hang  his- 
self  now,  an'  then  he  dared  him  to  show 
him  any  two  an'  two  thet  did  n't  make 
fo',  and  Sonny  says,  says  he,  "  Heap  o'  two 
an'  twos  don't  make  four,  'cause  they  're 
kep'  sep'rate,"  says  he, 

"  An'  then,"  says  he,  "  I  don't  want  my 
two  billy-goats  harnessed  up  with  nobody 
else's  two  billys  to  make  fo'  billys." 

"  But,"  says  the  teacher,  "  suppose  I  was 
to  harness  up  yo'  two  goats  with  Tom 
Deems's  two,  there  'd  be  f  o'  goats,  I  reckon, 
whether  you  wanted  'em  there  or  not." 

"  No  they  would  n't,"  says  Sonny.  "  They 
would  n't  be  but  two.  'T  would  n't  take 
my  team  more  'n  half  a  minute  to  butt  the 
life  out  o'  Tom's  team." 

An'  with  that  little  Tommy  Deems,  why, 
he  commenced  to  cry,  an'  'stid  o'  punishin' 
him  for  bein'  sech  a  cry-baby,  what  did  the 
teacher  do  but  give  Sonny  another  check, 
for  castin'  slurs  on  Tommy's  animals,  an' 


60  SONNY 

gettin'  Tommy's  feelin's  hurted!  Which 
I  aiu't  a-sayin'  it  on  account  o'  Sonny  bein' 
my  boy,  but  it  seems  to  me  was  a  mighty 
unfair  advantage. 

No  boy's  feelin's  ain't  got  no  right  to  be 
that  tender  —  an'  a  goat  is  the  last  thing 
on  earth  thet  could  be  injured  by  a  word 
of  mouth. 

Sonny's  pets  an'  beasts  has  made  a  heap 
o'  commotion  in  school  one  way  an'  an- 
other, somehow.  Ef  't  ain't  his  goats  it 's 
somethin'  else. 

Sir?  Sonny's  pets?  Oh,  they  're  all 
sorts.  He  ain't  no  ways  partic'lar  thess  so 
a  thing  is  po'  an'  miser'ble  enough.  That 's 
about  all  he  seems  to  require  of  anything. 

He  don't  never  go  to  school  hardly  'thout 
a  garter- snake  or  two  or  a  lizard  or  a  toad- 
frog  somewheres  about  him.  He 's  got  some 
o'  the  little  girls  at  school  that  nervous  thet 
if  he  thess  shakes  his  little  sleeve  at  'em 
they  '11  squeal,  not  knowin'  what  sort  o' 
live  critter  'U  jump  out  of  it. 

Most  of  his  pets  is  things  he  's  got  by 
their  bein'  hurted  some  way. 

One  of  his  toad-frogs  is  blind  of  a  eye. 


SONNY'S   SCHOOLIN'  61 

Sonny  rescued  him  from  the  old  red  roos- 
ter one  day  after  he  had  nearly  pecked 
him  to  death,  an'  he  had  him  hoppin'  round 
the  kitchen  for  about  a  week  with  one  eye 
bandaged  up. 

When  a  hurted  critter  gits  good  an' 
strong  he  gen'ally  turns  it  loose  ag'in  ;  but 
ef  it  stays  puny,  why  he  reg'lar  'dopts  it 
an'  names  it  Jones.  That 's  thess  a  little 
notion  o'  his,  namin'  his  pets  the  family 
name. 

The  most  outlandish  thing  he  ever 
'dopted,  to  my  mind,  is  that  old  yaller  cat. 
That  was  a  miser'ble  low-down  stray  cat 
thet  hung  round  the  place  a  whole  season, 
an'  Sonny  used  to  vow  he  was  goin'  to  kill 
it,  'cause  it  kep'  a-ketchin'  the  birds. 

Well,  one  day  he  happened  to  see  him 
thess  runnin'  off  with  a  young  mockin'- 
bird  in  his  mouth,  an'  he  took  a  brickbat 
an'  he  let  him  have  it,  an'  of  co'se  he 
dropped  the  bird  an'  tumbled  over  — 
stunted.  The  bird  it  got  well,  and  Sonny 
turned  him  loose  after  a  few  days ;  but  that 
cat  was  hurted  fatal  He  could  n't  never  no 
mo'  'n  drag  hisself  around  from  that  day 


62  SONNY 

to  this  5  an'  I  reckon  ef  Sonny  was  called 
on  to  give  up  every  pet  he  's  got,  that  cat 
would  be  'bout  the  last  thing  he  'd  sur- 
render. He  named  him  Tommy  Jones,  an' 
he  never  goes  to  school  of  a  mornin',  rain 
or  shine,  till  Tommy  Jones  is  fed  f'om  his 
own  plate  with  somethin'  he 's  left  for  him 
special. 

Of  co'se  Sonny  he 's  got  his  faults,  which 
anybody  '11  tell  you ;  but  th'  ain't  a  dumb 
brute  on  the  farm  but  '11  foller  him  around 
—  an'  the  nigger  Dicey,  why,  she  thinks 
they  never  was  such  another  boy  born 
into  the  world  ^ — that  is,  not  no  human 
child. 

An'  wife  an'  me  — 

But  of  co'se  he  's  ours. 

I  don't  doubt  thet  he  ain't  constructed 
thess  exac'ly  ez  the  school-teachers  would 
have  him,  ef  they  had  their  way.  Some- 
times I  have  thought  1  'd  like  his  disposi- 
tion eased  up  a  little,  myself,  when  he  taken 
a  stand  ag'in  my  jedgment  or  wife's. 

Takin'  'em  all  round,  though,  the  teach- 
ers has  been  mighty  patient  with  him. 

At  one  school  the  teacher  did  take  him  out 


SONNY'S   SCHOOLING  63 

behind  the  school-house  one  day  to  whup 
him ;  an'  although  teacher  is  a  big  strong 
man,  Sonny  's  mighty  wiry  an'  quick,  an' 
some  way  he  slipped  his  holt,  an'  f  o'  teacher 
could  ketch  him  ag'in  he  had  dumb  up  the 
lightnin'-rod  on  to  the  roof  thess  like  a  cat. 
An'  teacher  he  felt  purty  shore  of  him  then, 
'cause  he  'lowed  they  was  n't  no  other  way 
to  git  down  (which  they  was  n't,  the  school 
bein'  a  steep-sided  buildin'),  an'  he  'd  wait 
for  him. 

So  teacher  he  set  down  close-t  to  the 
lightnin'-rod  to  wait.  He  would  n't  go 
back  in  school  without  him,  cause  he  did 
n't  want  the  children  to  know  he  ^d  got 
away.  So  down  he  set ;  but  he  had  n't  no 
mo'  'n  took  his  seat  sca'cely  when  he  heerd 
the  child'en  in  school  roa'in'  out  loud, 
laughin'  fit  to  kill  theirselves. 

He  'lowed  at  first  thet  like  ez  not  the 
monitor  was  cuttin'  up  some  sort  o'  didoes, 
the  way  monitors  does  gen'ally,  so  he  waited 
a- while ;  but  it  kep'  a-gittin'  worse,  so  d'- 
rectly  he  got  up,  an'  he  went  in  to  see  what 
the  excitement  was  about;  an'lo  and  beholt ! 
Sonny  had  slipped  down  the  open  chimbly 


64  SONNY 

right  in  amongst  'em  —  come  out  a-grin- 
nin',  with  his  face  all  sooted  over,  an',  says 
he,  "  Say,  fellers,"  says  he,  "  I  run  up  the 
lightnm'-rod,  an'  he  's  a-waitin'  for  me  to 
come  down."  An'  with  that  he  went  an' 
gethered  up  his  books,  deliberate,  an'  fetched 
his  hat,  an'  picked  up  a  nest  o'  little  chim- 
bly-swallows  he  had  dislodged  in  comin' 
down  (all  this  here  it  happened  thess  las' 
June),  an'  he  went  out  an'  harnessed  up  his 
goat-wagon,  an'  got  in.  An'  thess  ez  he 
driv'  out  the  school-yard  into  the  road  the 
teacher  come  in,  an'  he  see  how  things  was. 
Of  co'se  sech  conduct  ez  that  is  worri- 
some, but  I  don't  see  no,  to  say,  bad  princi- 
ple in  it.  Sonny  ain't  got  a  bad  habit  on 
earth,  not  a-one.  They  11  ever'  one  o'  the 
teachers  tell  you  that.  He  ain't  never  been 
knowed  to  lie,  an'  ez  for  improper  lan- 
guage, why  he  would  n't  know  how  to  se- 
lect it.  An'  ez  to  tattlin'  at  home  about 
what  goes  on  in  school,  why,  he  never  has 
did  it.  The  only  way  we  knowed  about 
him  comin'  down  the  school-house  chimbly 
was  wife  went  to  fetch  his  dinner  to  him, 
an'  she  found  it  out. 


SONNY'S  SCHOOLIN'  65 

She  knowed  he  had  went  to  that  school 
in  the  mornin',  an'  when  she  got  there  at 
twelve  o'clock,  why  he  was  n't  there,  an'  of 
co'se  she  questioned  the  teacher,  an'  he 
thess  told  her  thet  Sonny  had  been  present 
at  the  mornin'  session,  but  thet  he  was 
now  absent.  An'  the  rest  of  it  she  picked 
out  o'  the  child'en. 

Oh,  no,  sir ;  she  don't  take  his  dinner  to 
him  reg'lar  —  only  some  days  when  she 
happens  to  have  somethin'  extry  good,  or 
maybe  when  she  'magines  he  did  n't  eat 
hearty  at  breakfast.  The  school-child'en 
they  always  likes  to  see  her  come,  because 
she  gen'ally  takes  a  extry  lot  o'  fried 
chicken  thess  for  him  to  give  away.  He 
don't  keer  much  for  nothin'  but  livers  an' 
gizzards,  so  we  have  to  kill  a  good  many 
to  get  enough  for  him;  an'  of  co'se  the 
fryin'  o'  the  rest  of  it  is  mighty  little 
trouble. 

Soiiny  is  a  bothersome  child  one  way . 
he  don't  never  want  to  take  his  dinner  to 
school  with  him.  Of  co'se  thess  after  eatm' 
breakfas'  he  don't  feel  hungry,  an'  when 
wife  does  coax  him  to  take  it,  he  'U  seem 
5 


66  SONNY 

to  git  up  a  appetite  walkin'  to  school,  an' 
he  '11  eat  it  up  'fo'  he  gits  there. 

Sonny  's  got  a  mighty  noble  disposition, 
though,  take  him  all  round. 

Now,  the  day  he  slipped  down  that  chim- 
bly  an'  run  away  he  was  n't  a  bit  flustered, 
an'  he  did  n't  play  hookey  the  balance  of 
the  day  neither.  He  thess  went  down  to 
the  crik,  an'  washed  the  soot  off  his  face, 
though  they  say  he  did  n't  no  more  'n  smear 
it  round,  an'  then  he  went  down  to  Miss 
Phcebe^s  school,  an'  stayed  there  till  it  was 
out.  An'  she  took  him  out  to  the  well, 
an'  washed  his  face  good  for  himo  But 
nex'  day  he  up  an'  went  back  to  Mr.  Clark's 
school — -walked  in  thess  ez  pleasant  an' 
kind,  an'  taken  his  seat  an'  said  his  lessons 
—  never  th'owed  it  up  to  teacher  at  all. 
Now,  some  child'en,  after  playin'  off  on  a 
teacher  that  a-way  would  a'  took  advan- 
tage ,  but  he  never.  It  was  a  fair  fight,  an'^ 
Sonny  whupped,  an'  that  's  all  there  was 
to  it ;  an'  he  never  put  on  no  air  about  it. 

Wife  did  threaten  to  go  herself  an'  make 
the  teacher  apologize  for  gittin'  the  little 
feller  all  sooted  up  an'  sp'ilm-  his  cio'es; 


SONNY'S  SCHOOLIN'  67 

but  she  thought  it  over,  an'  she  decided 
thet  she  would  n't  disturb  things  ez  long 
ez  they  was  peaceful.  An',  after  all,  he  did 
n't  exac'ly  send  him  down  the  chimbly  no- 
how, though  he  provoked  him  to  it. 

Ef  Sonny  had  'a'  fell  an'  hurted  hisself, 
though,  in  that  chimbly,  I  'd  'a'  helt  that 
teacher  responsible,  shore. 

Sonny  says  hisself  thet  the  only  thing 
he  feels  bad  about  in  that  chimbly  busi- 
ness is  thet  one  o'  the  little  swallers'  wings 
was  broke  by  the  fall.  Sonny's  got  him 
yet,  an'  he  's  li'ble  to  keep  him,  cause  he  '11 
never  fly.  Named  him  Swally  Jones,  an' 
reg'lar  'dopted  him  soon  ez  he  see  how  his 
wing  was. 

Sonny  's  the  only  child  I  ever  see  in  my 
life  thet  could  take  young  chimbly-swallers 
after  their  fall  an'  make  'em  live.  But  he 
does  it  reg'lar.  They  ain't  a  week  passes 
sca'cely  but  he  fetches  in  some  hurted  crit- 
ter an'  works  with  it.  Dicey  says  thet  half 
the  time  she  's  afeerd  to  step  around  her 
cook-stove  less'n  she  '11  step  on  some  critter 
thet 's  crawled  back  to  life  where  he  's  put 
it  under  the  stove  to  hatch  or  thaw  out, 


68  SONNY 

which  she  bein'  bare-feeted,  I  don't  won- 
der at. 

An'  he  has  did  the  same  way  at  school 
purty  much.  It  got  so  for  a- while  at  one 
school  thet  not  a  child  in  school  could  be 
hired  to  put  his  hand  in  the  wood-box,  not 
knowin'  ef  any  piece  o'  bark  or  old  wood  in 
it  would  turn  out  to  be  a  young  alligator 
or  toad-frog  thawin'  out.  Teacher  hisself 
picked  up  a  chip,  reckless,  one  day,  an'  it 
hopped  up,  and  knocked  off  his  spectacles. 
Of  cose  it  was  n't  no  chip.  Hopper-toad 
frogs  an'  wood-bark  chips,  why,  they  favors 
consider'ble — lay  'em  same  side  up. 

It  was  on  account  o'  her  takin'  a  interest 
in  aU  his  little  beasts  an'  varmints  thet  he 
first  took  sech  a  notion  to  Miss  Phoebe 
Kellog's  school.  Where  any  other  teacher 
would  scold  about  sech  things  ez  he  'd  fetch 
in,  why,  she  'd  encourage  him  to  bring  'em 
to  her ;  an'  she  'd  fix  a  place  for  'em,  an' 
maybe  git  out  some  book  tellin'  all  about 
'em,  an'  showin'  pictures  of  'em. 

She  's  had  squir'l-books,  an'  bird-books, 
an'  books  on  nearly  every  sort  o'  wild  crit- 
ter you  'd  think  too  mean  to  j^ut  into  a 


SONNY'S  SCHOOLIN'  69 

book,  at  that  school,  an'  give  the  child'en 
readin'-lessons  on  'em  an'  drawin'-lessons 
an'  clay-moldin'  lessons. 

Why,  Sonny  has  did  his  alligator  so 
nach'l  in  clay  thet  you  'd  most  expec'  to  see 
it  creep  away.  An'  you  'd  think  mo'  of  alli- 
gators forever  afterward,  too.  An'  ez  to 
readin',  he  never  did  take  no  interest  in 
learnin'  how  to  read  out  'n  them  school- 
readers,  which  he  declares  don't  no  more 
'n  git  a  person  interested  in  one  thing  be- 
fo'  they  start  on  another,  an'  maybe  start 
that  in  the  middle. 

The  other  teachers,  they  makes  a  heap 
o'  fun  o'  Miss  Phoebe's  way  o'  school-teach- 
in',  'cause  she  lets  the  child'en  ask  all  sorts 
of  outlandish  questions,  an'  make  pictures 
in  school  hours,  an'  she  don't  requi'  'em  to 
fold  their  arms  in  school,  neither. 

Maybe  she  is  foolin'  their  time  away.  I 
can't  say  ez  I  exac'ly  see  how  she  's  a  work- 
in'  it  to  edjercate  'em  that  a-way.  I  had  to 
set  with  my  arms  folded  eight  hours  a  day 
in  school  when  I  was  a  boy,  to  learn  the 
little  I  know,  an'  wife  she  got  her  edj crea- 
tion the  same  way.  An'  we  went  clean 
5* 


70  SONNY 

thoo  f  om  the  a-h  ahs  an'  e-h  ebs  clair  to 
the  end  o'  the  blue-back  speller. 

An'  we  learned  to  purnounce  a  heap  mo' 
words  than  either  one  of  us  has  ever  needed 
to  know,  though  there  has  been  times,  sech 
ez  when  my  wife's  mother  took  the  phthi- 
sic an'  I  had  the  asthma,  thet  I  was  obli- 
gated to  write  to  the  doctor  about  it,  thet 
I  was  thankful  for  my  experience  in  the 
blue-back  speller.  Them  was  our  brag- 
words,  phthisic  and  asthma  was.  They  's 
a  few  other  words  I  've  always  hoped  to 
have  a  chance  to  spell  in  the  reg'lar  co'se 
of  life,  sech  ez  y-a-c-h-t,  yacht,  but  I  sup- 
pose, livin'  in  a  little  inland  town,  which  a 
yacht  is  a  boat,  a  person  could  n't  be  ex- 
pected to  need  sech  a  word  —  less'n  he 
went  travelin'. 

I  've  often  thought  thet  ef  at  the  Jedg- 
ment  the  good  Lord  would  only  examine 
me  an'  all  them  thet  went  to  school  in  m.y 
day  in  the  old  blue-back  speller  'stid  o' 
tacklin'  us  on  the  weak  p'ints  of  our  pore 
mortal  lives,  why,  we  'd  stand  about  ez 
good  a  chance  o'  gettin'  to  heaven  ez  any- 
body else.  An'  maybe  He  will  —  who 
knows  ? 


SONNY'S   SCHOOLIN'  71 

But  ez  for  book-readin',  wife  an'  me  ain't 
never  felt  called  on  to  read  no  book  save 
an'  exceptin'  the  Holy  Scriptures  —  an',  of 
cose,  the  seed  catalogues. 

An'  here  Sonny,  not  quite  twelve  year 
old,  lias  read  five  books  thoo,  an'  some  of 
'em  twice-t  an'  three  times  over.  His 
"Robinson  Crusoe"  shows  mo'  wear  'n 
tear  'n  what  my  Testament  does,  I  'm 
ashamed  to  say.  I  've  done  give  Miss 
Phoebe  free  license  to  buy  him  any  book 
she  wants  him  to  have,  an'  he  's  got  'em 
all  'ranged  in  a  row  on  the  end  o'  the 
mantel-shelf. 

Quick  ez  he  'd  git  thoo  readin'  a  book, 
of  co'se  wife  she  'd  be  for  dustin'  it  off  and 
puttin'  up  on  the  top  closet  shelf  where 
a  book  nach'ally  belongs;  but  seem  like 
Sonny  he  wants  to  keep  'em  in  sight.  So 
wife  she  'd  worked  a  little  lace  shelf -cover 
to  lay  under  'em,  an'  we  've  hung  our 
framed  marriage-c'tificate  above  'em,  an' 
the  corner  looks  right  purty,  come  to  see 
it  fixed  up. 

Sir?  Oh,  no;  we  ain't  took  him  from 
none  o'  the  other  schools  yet.    He  's  been 


72  SONNY 

goin'  to  Miss  Phoebe's  reg'lar  now  —  all  but 
the  exhibition  an'  picnic  days  in  the  other 
schools  —  for  nearly  five  months,  not 
countin'  off-an'-on  days  he  went  to  her 
befo'  he  settled  down  to  it  stiddy. 

He  says  he  's  a-goin'  there  reg'lar  from 
this  time  on,  an'  I  b'lieve  he  will ;  but  wife 
an'  me  we  talked  it  over,  an'  we  decided 
we  'd  let  things  stand,  an'  keep  his  name 
down  on  all  the  books  till  sech  a  time  ez 
he  come  to  long  division  with  Miss  Kellog. 

An'  ef  he  stays  thoo  that,  we  '11  feel  free 
to  notify  the  other  schools  thet  he  's  quit. 


SONNY'S  DIPLOMA 

^AS,  sir;  this  is  it.  This  here  's 
Sonny's  diplomy  thet  you  've 
heerd  so  much  about  —  sheep- 
skin they  call  it,  though  it  ain't 
no  mo'  sheepskin  'n  what  I  am.  I  've 
skinned  too  many  not  to  know.  Thess  to 
think  o'  little  Sonny  bein'  a  grad'jate  —  an' 
all  by  his  own  efforts,  too ! 

It  is  a  plain-lookin'  picture,  ez  you  say, 
to  be  framed  up  in  sech  a  fine  gilt  frame ; 
but  it 's  worth  it,  an'  I  don't  begrudge  it  to 
him.  He  picked  out  that  red  plush  around 
the  inside  of  the  frame  hisself .  He  's  got 
mighty  fine  taste  for  a  country-raised  child. 
Sonny  has. 

Seem  like  the  oftener  I  come  here  an' 
Stan'  before  it,  the  prouder  I  feel,  an'  the 
mo'  I  can't  reelize  thet  he  done  it. 

I  'd  'a'  been  proud  enough  to  've  had  him 
go  through  the  reg'lar  co'se  o'  study,  an'  be 

73 


74  SONNY 

awarded  this  diplomy,  but  to  've  seen  'im 
thess  walk  in  an'  demand  it,  the  way  he 
done,  an'  to  prove  his  right  in  a  fair  fight 
—  why,  it  tickles  me  so  thet  I  thess  seem 
to  git  a  spell  o'  the  giggles  ev'y  time  I 
think  about  it. 

Sir?  How  did  he  do  it  ?  Why,  I  thought 
eve'ybody  in  the  State  of  Arkansas  knowed 
how  Sonny  walked  over  the  boa'd  o'  school 
directors,  an'  took  a  diplomy  in  the  face  of 
Providence,  at  the  last  anniversary. 

I  don't  know  thet  I  ought  to  say  that 
either,  for  they  never  was  a  thing  done  mo' 
friendly  an'  amiable  on  earth,  on  his  part, 
than  the  takin'  of  this  dockiment.  Why, 
no;  of  co'se  he  was  n't  goin'  to  that 
school  —  cert'n'y  not.  Ef  he  had  b'longed 
to  that  school,  they  would  n't  'a'  been  no 
question  about  it.  He  'd  'a'  thess  gradj'- 
ated  with  the  others.  An'  when  he  went 
there  with  his  ma  an'  me,  why,  he  '11  tell 
you  hisself  that  he  had  n't  no  mo'  idee  of 
gi^adj'atin'  'n  what  I  have  this  minute. 

An'  when  he  riz  up  in  his  seat,  an'  an- 
nounced his  intention,  why,  you  could  'a' 
knocked  me  down  with  a  feather.   You  see, 


SONNY'S  DIPLOMA  75 

it  took  me  so  sudden,  an'  I  did  n't  see  thess 
how  lie  was  goin'  to  work  it,  never  liavin' 
been  to  that  school. 

Of  co'se  eve'ybody  in  the  county  goes  to 
the  gradj'atin',  an'  we  was  all  three  settin' 
there  watchin'  the  performances,  not  think- 
in'  of  any  special  excitement,  when  Sonny 
took  this  idee. 

It  seems  thet  seein'  all  the  other  boys 
gradj'ate  put  him  in  the  notion,  an'  he  felt 
like  ez  ef  he  ought  to  be  a-gradj'atin',  too. 

You  see,  he  had  went  to  school  mo'  or 
less  with  all  them  fellers,  an'  he  knowed 
thet  they  did  n't,  none  o'  'em,  know  half  ez 
much  ez  what  he  did, —  though,  to  tell  the 
truth,  he  ain't  never  said  sech  a  word,  not 
even  to  her  or  me, —  an',  seein'  how  easy 
they  was  bein'  turned  out,  why,  he  thess 
reelized  his  own  rights — an'  demanded  'em 
then  an'  there. 

Of  co'se  we  know  thet  they  is  folks  in 
this  here  community  thet  says  thet  he 
ain't  got  no  right  to  this  diplomy;  but 
what  else  could  you  expect  in  a  jealous 
neighborhood  where  eve'ybody  is  mo'  or 
less  kin? 


76  SONNY 

The  way  I  look  at  it,  they  never  was  a 
diplomy  earned  quite  so  upright  ez  this  on 
earth — never.  Ef  it  was  n't,  why,  I  would 
n't  allow  him  to  have  it,  no  matter  how 
much  pride  I  would  'a'  took,  an'  do  take,  in 
it.  But  for  a  boy  o'  Sonny's  age  to  've  had 
the  courage  to  face  all  them  people,  an' 
ask  to  be  examined  then  an'  there,  an'  to 
come  out  ahead,  the  way  he  done,  why,  it 
does  me  proud,  that  it  does. 

You  see,  for  a  boy  to  set  there  seein'  all 
them  know-nothin'  boys  gradj'ate,  one  af- 
ter another,  offhand,  the  way  they  was 
doin',  was  mighty  provokin',  an'  when 
Sonny  is  struck  with  a  sense  of  injestice, 
why,  he  ain't  never  been  known  to  bear  it 
in  silence.  He  taken  that  from  her  side  o' 
the  house. 

I  noticed,  ez  he  set  there  that  day,  thet 
he  begin  to  look  toler'ble  solemn,  for  a  fes- 
tival, but  it  never  crossed  my  mind  what 
he  was  a-projeckin'  to  do.  Ef  I  had  'a' 
suspicioned  it,  I  'm  af  eered  I  would  've  op- 
posed it,  I  'd  'a'  been  so  skeert  he  would 
n't  come  out  all  right ;  an'  ez  I  said,  I  did 
n't  see,  for  the  life  o'  me,  how  he  was  goin' 
to  work  it. 


SONNY'S  DIPLOMA  77 

That  is  the  only  school  in  the  county 
thet  he  ain't  never  went  to,  'cause  it  was 
started  after  he  had  settled  down  to  Miss 
Phoebe's  school.  He  would  n't  hardly  'v 
went  to  it,  nohow,  though  —  less  'n,  of 
co'se,  he  'd  'a'  took  a  notion.  Th'  ain't  no 
'casion  to  send  him  to  a  county  school 
when  he  's  the  only  one  we  've  got  to  ed- 
j  create.  They  ain't  been  a  thing  I  've  en- 
joyed ez  much  in  my  life  ez  my  sacker- 
fices  on  account  o'  Sonny's  edjercation  — 
not  a  one.  Th'  ain't  a  patch  on  any  ol' 
coat  I  've  got  but  seems  to  me  to  stand  for 
some  advantage  to  him. 

Well,  sir,  it  was  thess  like  I  'm  a-tellin' 
you.  He  set  still  ez  long  ez  he  could, 
an'  then  he  riz  an'  spoke.  Says  he,  "I 
have  decided  thet  I  'd  hke  to  do  a  little 
gradj'atin'  this  evenin'  myself,"  thess  that 
a-way. 

An'  when  he  spoke  them  words,  for 
about  a  minute  you  could  'a'  heerd  a  pin 
drop;  an'  then  eve'y  body  begin  a-screechin' 
with  laughter.  A  person  would  think  thet 
they  'd  'a'  had  some  consideration  for  a 
child  standin'  up  in  the  midst  o'  sech  a 


78  SONNY 

getherin',  tryin'  to  take  his  own  part,*  but 
they  did  n't.  They  thess  laughed  im- 
mod'rate.  But  they  did  n't  faze  him.  He 
had  took  his  station  on  the  flo',  an'  he  helt 
his  ground. 

Thess  ez  soon  ez  he  could  git  a  heerin', 
why,  he  says,  says  he :  "I  don't  want  any- 
body to  think  thet  I  'm  a-tryln'  to  take  any 
advantage.  I  don't  expec'  to  gradj'ate  with- 
out passm'  my  examination.  An',  mo'  'n 
that,"  says  he,  "  I  am  ready  to  pass  it  now." 
An'  then  he  went  on  to  explain  thet  he 
would  like  to  have  anybody  present  thet 
was  competent  to  do  it  to  step  forward  an' 
examine  him  —  then  an'  there.  An'  he 
said  thet  ef  he  was  examined  fair  and 
square,  to  the  satisfaction  of  eve'ybody  — 
an^  did  nH  pass  —  why,  he  'd  give  up  the 
p'int.  An'  he  wanted  to  be  examined  oral 
—  in  eve'ybody's  hearin' —  free-handed  an' 
outspoke. 

Well,  sir,  seem  like  folks  begin  to  see  a 
little  fun  ahead  in  lettin'  him  try  it  — 
which  I  don't  see  thess  how  they  could  'a' 
hindered  him,  an'  it  a  free  school,  an'  me  a 
taxpayer.    But  they  all  seemed  to  be  in 


SONNY'S  DIPLOMA.  79 

a  pretty  good  humor  by  this  time,  an' 
when  Sonny  put  it  to  vote,  why,  they 
voted  unanymous  to  let  him  try  it.  An' 
all  o'  them  unanymous  votes  was  n't,  to 
say,  friendly,  neither.  Heap  o'  them  thet 
was  loudest  in  their  unanimosity  was 
hopefully  expectin'  to  see  him  whipped 
out  at  the  first  question.  Tell  the  truth,  I 
mo'  'n  half  feared  to  see  it  myself.  I  was 
that  skeert  I  was  fairly  all  of  a  trimble. 

"Well,  when  they  had  done  votin',  Sonny, 
after  first  thankin'  'em, —  which  I  think 
was  a  mighty  polite  thing  to  do,  an'  they 
full  o'  the  giggles  at  his  little  expense  that 
minute, —  why,  he  went  on  to  say  thet  he 
requie'd  'em  to  make  tliess  one  condition, 
an'  that  was  thet  any  question  he  missed 
was  to  be  passed  on  to  them  thet  had  been 
a-gradj'atin'  so  fast,  an'  ef  they  missed  it, 
it  was  n't  to  be  counted  ag'inst  him. 

Well,  when  he  come  out  with  that,  which, 
to  my  mind,  could  n't  be  beat  for  fairness, 
why,  some  o'  the  mothers  they  commenced 
to  look  purty  serious,  an'  seem  like  ez  ef 
they  did  n't  find  it  quite  so  funny  ez  it  had 
been.    You  see,  they  say  thet  them  boys 


80  SONNY 

had  eve'y  one  had  reg'lar  questions  give' 
out  to  'em,  an'  eve'y  last  one  had  studied 
his  own  word ;  an'  ef  they  was  to  be  ques- 
tioned hit  an'  miss,  why  they  would  n't  'a' 
stood  no  chance  on  earth. 

Of  co'se  they  could  n't  give  Sonny  the 
same  questions  thet  had  been  give'  out,  be- 
cause he  had  heerd  the  answers,  an'  it 
would  n't  'a'  been  fair.  So  Sonny  he  told 
'em  to  thess  set  down,  an'  make  out  a  list 
of  questions  thet  they  'd  all  agree  was 
about  of  a'  equal  hardness  to  them  thet  had 
been  ast,  an'  was  of  thess  the  kind  of  learn- 
in'  thet  all  the  reg'lar  gradj'ates's  minds 
was  sto'ed  with,  an'  thet  either  he  knowed 
'em  or  he  did  n't  —  one. 

It  don't  seem  so  excitin',  somehow,  when 
I  tell  about  it  now ;  but  I  tell  you  for  about 
a  minute  or  so,  whilst  they  was  waitin'  to 
see  who  would  undertake  the  job  of  exam- 
inin'  him,  why,  it  seemed  thet  eve'y  min- 
ute would  be  the  next,  ez  my  ol'  daddy 
used  to  say.  The  only  person  present  thet 
seemed  to  take  things  anyway  ca'm  was 
Miss  Phoebe  Kellog,  Sonny's  teacher.  She 
has  been  teachin'  him  reg'lar  for  over  two 


SONNY'S  DIPLOMA  81 

years  now,  an'  ef  she  had  'a'  had  a  right  to 
give  diplomies,  why,  Sonny  would  'a'  thess 
took  out  one  from  her ;  but  she  ain't  got 
no  license  to  gradj'ate  nobody.  But  she 
knowed  what  Sonny  knowed,  an'  she 
knowed  thet  ef  he  had  a  fair  show,  he  'd 
come  thoo  creditable  to  all  hands.  She 
loves  Sonny  thess  about  ez  much  ez  we 
do,  I  believe,  take  it  all  round.  Th'  ain't 
never  been  but  one  time  in  these  two  years 
thet  she  has,  to  say,  got  me  out  o'  temper, 
an'  that  was  the  day  she  said  to  me  thet 
her  sure  belief  was  thet  Sonny  was  goin'  to 
mahe  sometJmi'  out  ^n  hisseJf  some  day  — 
like  ez  ef  he  had  n't  already  made  mo' 
'n  could  be  expected  of  a  boy  of  his  age. 
Tell  the  truth,  I  never  in  my  life  come  so 
near  sayin'  somethin'  I  'd  'a'  been  shore  to 
regret  ez  I  did  on  that  occasion.  But  of 
co'se  I  know  she  did  n't  mean  it.  All  she 
meant  was  thet  he  would  turn  out  even 
mo'  'n  what  he  was  now,  which  would  be 
on'y  nachel,  with  his  growth. 

Everybody  knows  thet  it  was  her  that 
got  him  started  with  his  collections  an'  his 
libr'y.    Oh,  yes ;  he  's  got  the  best  libr'y  in 
6 


82  SONNY 

the  county,  'cep'n',  of  co'se,  the  doctor's  'n' 
the  preacher's  —  everybody  round  about 
here  knows  about  that.  He  's  got  about  a 
hund'ed  books  an'  over.  Well,  sir,  when 
he  made  that  remark,  thet  any  question 
thet  he  missed  was  to  be  give  to  the  class, 
why,  the  whole  atmosp'ere  took  on  a  change 
o'  temp'atm-e.  Even  the  teacher  was  for 
backin'  out  o'  the  whole  business  square ; 
but  he  did  n't  thess  seem  to  dare  to  say 
so.  You  see,  after  him  a-favorin'  it,  it 
would  'a'  been  a  dead  give-away. 

Eve'ybody  there  had  saw  him  step  over 
an'  whisper  to  Brother  Binney  when  it  was 
decided  to  give  Sonny  a  chance,  an'  they 
knowed  thet  he  had  asked  Jiim  to  examine 
him.  But  now,  instid  o'  callin'  on  Brother 
Binney,  why,  he  thess  said,  says  he:  "I 
suppose  I  ought  not  to  shirk  this  duty.  Ef 
it 's  to  be  did,"  says  he,  "  I  reckon  I  ought 
to  do  it  —  an'  do  it  I  will."  You  see,  he 
dares  n't  allow  Brother  Binney  to  put  ques- 
tions, for  fear  he  'd  call  out  some  thet  his 
smarty  grad'jates  could  n't  answer. 

So  he  thess  claired  his  th'oat,  an'  set 
down   a  minute  to  consider.     An'  then 


SONNY'S   DIPLOMA  83 

he  riz  from  his  seat,  an'  remarked,  with 
a  heap  o'  hems  and  haws,  thet  of  co'se 
everybody  knowed  thet  Sonny  Jones  had 
had  unusual  advantages  in  some  respec's, 
but  thet  it  was  one  thing  for  a  boy  to  spend 
his  time  a-picnickin'  in  the  woods,  gether- 
in'  all  sorts  of  natural  curiosities,  but  it 
was  quite  another  to  be  a  scholar  accordin' 
to  books,  so 's  to  be  able  to  pass  sech  a'  ex- 
amination ez  would  be  a  credit  to  a  State 
institution  o'  learnin',  sech  ez  the  one  over 
which  he  was  proud  to  preside.  That  word 
struck  me  partic'lar,  "proud  to  preside," 
which,  in  all  this,  of  co'se,  I  see  he  was 
castin'  a  slur  on  Sonny's  collections  of 
birds'  eggs,  an'  his  wild  flowers,  an'  wood 
specimens,  an'  min'rals.  He  even  went  so 
far  ez  to  say  thet  ol'  Proph',  the  half -crazy 
nigger  thet  tells  fortunes,  an'  gethers  herbs 
out  'n  the  woods,  an'  talks  to  hisself,  likely 
knew  more  about  a  good  many  things  than 
anybody  present,  but  thet,  bein'  ez  he  did 
n't  know  h  from  a  bull's  foot,  why,  it  would 
n't  hardly  do  to  grad'jate  him  —  not  castin' 
no  slurs  on  Master  Sonny  Jones,  nor  makin' 
no  invijus  comparisons,  of  co'se. 


84  SONNY 

Well,  sir,  there  was  some  folks  there  thet 
seemed  to  think  this  sort  o'  talk  was  mighty 
funny  an'  smart.  Some  o'  the  mothers  ac- 
chilly  giggled  over  it  out  loud,  they  was  so 
mightily  tickled.  But  Sonny  he  thess  stood 
his  ground  an'  waited.  Most  any  boy  o' 
his  age  would  'a'  got  flustered,  but  he  did 
n't.  He  thess  glanced  around  unconcerned 
at  all  the  people  a-settin'  around  him,  thess 
like  ez  ef  they  might  'a'  been  askin'  him  to 
a  picnic  instid  o'  him  provokin'  a  whole 
school  committee  to  wrath. 

Well,  sir,  it  took  that  school-teacher 
about  a  half -hour  to  pick  out  the  first  ques- 
tion, an'  he  did  n't  pick  it  out  then.  He  'd 
stop,  an'  he  'd  look  at  the  book,  an'  then 
he  'd  look  at  Sonny,  an'  then  he  'd  look  at 
the  class, —  an'  then  he  'd  turn  a  page,  like 
ez  ef  he  could  n't  make  up  his  mind,  an' 
was  afeerd  to  resk  it,  less'n  it  might  be 
missed,  an'  be  referred  back  to  the  class,  I 
never  did  see  a  man  so  overwrought  over 
a  little  thing  in  my  life  —  never.  They 
do  say,  though,  that  school-teachers  feels 
mighty  bad  when  their  scholars  misses 
any  p'int  in  public. 


SONNY'S  DIPLOMA  85 

Well,  sir,  he  took  so  long  that  d'reckly 
everybody  begin  to  git  wo'e  out,  an'  at  last 
Sonny,  why,  he  got  tked,  too,  an'  he  up  an' 
says,  says  he,  "  Ef  you  can't  make  up  your 
mind  what  to  ask  me,  teacher,  why  'n't  you 
let  me  ask  myself  questions  I  An'  ef  my 
questions  seem  too  easy,  why,  I  '11  put  'em 
to  the  class." 

An',  sir,  with  that  he  thess  turns  round, 
an'  he  says,  says  he,  "  Sonny  Jones,"  says 
he,  addressin'  hisself,  "what  's  the  cause 
of  total  eclipses  of  the  sun  ? "  Thess  that 
a- way  he  said  it;  an'  then  he  turned 
around,  an'  he  says,  says  he : 

"  Is  that  a  hard  enough  question  ?  " 

"  Very  good,"  says  teacher. 

An',  with  that.  Sonny  he  up  an'  picks  up 
a'  orange  an'  a'  apple  off  the  teacher's  desk, 
an'  says  he,  "  This  orange  is  the  earth,  an' 
this  here  apple  is  the  sun."  An',  with  that, 
he  explained  all  they  is  to  total  eclipses.  I 
can't  begin  to  tell  you  thess  how  he  ex- 
pressed it,  because  I  ain't  highly  edj  created 
myself,  an'  I  don't  know  the  specifactions. 
But  when  he  had  got  thoo,  he  turned  to 
the  teacher,  an'  says  he,  "  Is  they  anything 
6* 


86  SONNY 

else  thet  you  'd  like  to  know  about  total 
eclipses  ? "  An'  teacher  says,  says  he,  "  Oh, 
no ;  not  at  all." 

They  do  say  thet  them  gradj'ates  had 
n't  never  went  so  far  ez  total  eclipses,  an' 
teacher  would  n't  'a'  had  the  subject  men- 
tioned to  'em  for  nothin' ;  but  I  don't  say 
that 's  so. 

Well,  then.  Sonny  he  turned  around,  an' 
looked  at  the  company,  an'  he  says,  "Is 
everybody  satisfied  ? "  An'  all  the  mothers 
an'  fathers  nodded  their  heads  "yes," 

An'  then  he  waited  thess  a  minute,  an' 
he  says,  says  he,  "  Well,  now  I  '11  put  the 
next  question : 

"  Sonny  Jones,"  says  he,  "  what  is  the 
difference  between  dew  an'  rain  an'  fog  an' 
hail  an'  sleet  an'  snow  ? 

"  Is  that  a  hard  enough  question  ?  " 

Well,  from  that  he  started  in,  an'  he  did 
n't  stop  tell  he  had  expounded  about  every 
kind  of  dampness  that  ever  descended  from 
heaven  or  rose  from  the  earth.  An'  after 
that,  why,  he  went  on  a-givin'  out  one 
question  after  another,  an'  answerin  'em, 
tell  everybody  had  declared  theirselves  en- 


SONNY'S  DIPLOMA  87 

tirely  satisfied  that  he  was  fully  equipped 
to  gradj'ate  —  an',  tell  the  truth,  I  don't 
doubt  thet  a  heap  of  'em  felt  their  minds 
considerably  relieved  to  have  it  safe-t  over 
with  without  puttin'  their  grad'jates  to 
shame,  when  what  does  he  do  but  say, 
"  Well,  ef  you  're  satisfied,  why,  I  am  —  an' 
yet,"  says  he,  "I  think  I  would  like  to  ask 
myself  one  or  two  hard  questions  more, 
thess  to  make  shore."  An'  befo'  anybody 
could  stop  him,  he  had  said : 

"  Sonny  Jones,  what  is  the  reason  thet 
a  bird  has  feathers  and  a  dog  has  hair  ? " 
An'  then  he  turned  around  deliberate,  an' 
answered:  "I  don't  know.  Teacher, please 
put  that  question  to  the  class." 

Teacher  had  kep'  his  temper  purty  well 
up  to  this  time,  but  I  see  he  was  mad  now, 
an'  he  riz  from  his  chair,  an'  says  he: 
"  This  examination  has  been  declared  fin- 
ished, an'  I  think  we  have  spent  ez  much 
time  on  it  ez  we  can  spare."  An'  all  the  mo- 
thers they  nodded  their  heads,  an'  started 
a-whisperin' — most  impolite. 

An'  at  that,  Sonny,  why,  he  thess  set 
down  as  modest  an'  peaceable  ez  anything ; 


88  SONNY 

but  ez  he  was  settin'  he  remarked  that  he 
was  in  hopes  thet  some  o'  the  reg'lars  would 
'a'  took  time  to  answer  a  few  questions 
thet  had  bothered  his  mind  f  om  time  to 
time  —  an'  of  c'ose  they  must  know ;  which, 
to  my  mind,  was  the  modes'est  remark  a 
boy  ever  did  make. 

Well,  sir,  that  's  the  way  this  diplomy 
was  earned  —  by  a  good,  hard  struggle,  in 
open  daylight,  by  unanymous  vote  of  all 
concerned  —  or  unconcerned,  for  that  mat- 
ter. An'  my  opinion  is  thet  if  they  are 
those  who  have  any  private  opinions  about 
it,  an'  they  did  n't  express  'em  that  day, 
why  they  ain't  got  no  right  to  do  it  un- 
derhanded, ez  I  am  sorry  to  say  has  been 
done. 

But  it 's  his  diplomy,  an'  it 's  handsomer 
fixed  up  than  any  in  town,  an'  I  doubt  ef 
they  ever  was  one  anywhere  thet  was  took 
more  paternal  pride  in. 

Wife  she  ain't  got  so  yet  thet  she  can  look 
at  it  without  sort  o'  cryin'  —  thess  the  look 
of  it  seems  to  bring  back  the  figure  o'  the 
little  feller,  ez  he  helt  his  ground,  single- 
handed,  at  that  gradj'atin'  that  day. 


SONNY'S  DIPLOMA  89 

Well,  sir,  we  was  so  pleased  to  have  him 
turned  out  a  full  gradj'ate  thet,  after  it 
was  all  over,  why,  I  riz  up  then  and  there, 
though  I  could  n't  hardly  speak  for  the 
lump  in  my  th'oat,  an'  I  said  thet  I  wanted 
to  announce  thet  Sonny  was  goin'  to  have 
a  gradj'atin'  party  out  at  our  farm  that 
day  week,  an'  thet  the  present  company 
was  all  invited. 

An'  he  did  have  it,  too ;  an'  they  all  come, 
every  mother's  son  of  'em  —  from  a  to  iz- 
zard  —  even  to  them  that  has  expressed 
secret  dissatisfactions ;  which  they  was  all 
welcome,  though  it  does  seem  to  me  thet, 
ef  I  'd  been  in  their  places,  I  'd  'a'  hardly 
had  the  face  to  come  an'  talk,  too. 

I  'm  this  kind  of  a  disposition  myself: 
ef  I  was  ever  to  go  to  any  kind  of  a  colla- 
tion thet  I  felt  secret  disapproval  of,  why, 
the  supper  could  n't  be  good  enough  not 
to  choke  me. 

An'  Sonny,  why,  he  's  constructed  on 
the  same  plan.  We  ain't  never  told  him 
of  any  o'  the  remarks  thet  has  been  passed. 
They  might  git  his  little  feelin's  hurted, 
an'  't  would  n't  do  no  good,  though  some 


90  SONNY 

few  has  been  made  to  his  face  by  one  or 
two  smarty,  ill-raised  boys. 

Well,  sir,  we  give  'em  a  fine  party,  ef  I 
do  say  it  myself,  an'  they  all  had  a  good 
time.  Wife  she  whipped  up  eggs  an'  sugar 
for  a  week  befo'hand,  an'  we  set  the  table 
out  under  the  mulberries.  It  took  eleven 
little  niggers  to  wait  on  'em,  not  countin' 
them  thet  worked  the  fly-fans.  An'  Sonny 
he  ast  the  blessin'. 

Then,  after  they  'd  all  et.  Sonny  he  had 
a'  exhibition  of  his  little  specimens.  He 
showed  'em  his  bird  eggs,  an'  his  wood 
samples,  an'  his  stamp  album,  an'  his  scroll- 
sawed  things,  an'  his  clay-moldin's,  an'  all 
his  little  menagerie  of  animals  an'  things. 
I  ruther  think  everybody  was  struck  when 
they  found  thet  Sonny  knowed  the  botani- 
cal names  of  every  one  of  the  animals  he  's 
ever  tamed,  an'  every  bird.  Miss  Phoebe, 
she  did  n't  come  to  the  front  much.  She 
stayed  along  with  wife,  an'  helped  'tend  to 
the  company,  but  I  could  see  she  looked  on 
with  pride ;  an'  I  don't  want  nothin'  said 
about  it,  but  the  boa'd  of  school  directors 
was  so  took  with  the  things  she  had  taught 


SONNY'S  DIPLOMA  91 

Sonny  thet,  when  the  evenin'  was  over, 
they  ast  her  to  accept  a  situation  in  the 
academy  next  year,  an'  she  's  goin'  to 
take  it. 

An'  she  says  thet  ef  Sonny  will  take  a 
private  co'se  of  instruction  in  nachel  sci- 
ences, an'  go  to  a  few  lectures,  why,  th' 
ain't  nobody  on  earth  that  she  'd  ruther 
see  come  into  that  academy  ez  teacher, 
—  that  is,  of  co'se,  in  time.  But  I  doubt 
ef  he  'd  ever  keer  for  it, 

I  've  always  thought  thet  school-teachin', 
to  be  a  success,  has  to  run  in  famihes, 
same  ez  anythin'  else  —  yet,  th'  ain't  no 
tellin'. 

I  don't  keer  what  he  settles  on  when  he 's 
grown;  I  expect  to  take  pride  in  the  way 
lie  HI  do  it  —  an'  that 's  the  principal  thing, 
after  all. 

It 's  the  "  Well  done  "  we  're  all  a-hopin' 
to  hear  at  the  last  day ;  an'  the  po'  laborer 
thet  digs  a  good  ditch  '11  have  thess  ez 
good  a  chance  to  hear  it  ez  the  man  that 
owns  the  farm. 


SONNY    "KEEPIN'    COMPANY" 

ELLO,  doc' ;  come  in !  Don't  ask 
me  to  shake  hands,  though,  't 
least,  not  tell  I  can  di'op  this  'ere 
piece  o'  ribbin. 

I  never  reelized  how  much  shenanigan 
it  took  to  tie  a  bow  o'  ribbin  tell  I  started 
experimentin'  with  this  here  buggy-whup 
o'  Sonny's. 

An'  he  wants  it  tied  thess  so.  He  's  a 
reg'lar  Miss  Nancy,  come  to  taste. 

All  the  boys,  nowadays,  they  seem  to 
think  thet  ez  soon  ez  they  commence  to 
keep  company,  they  must  have  ribbin 
bows  tied  on  their  buggy- whups  —  an'  I 
reckon  it  's  in  accordance,  ef  anything  is. 

I  thess  called  you  in  to  look  at  his  new 
buggy,  doctor.  You  've  had  your  first  in- 
nin's,  ez  the  base-ball  fellers  says,  at  all  o' 
his  various  an'  sundry  celebrations,  from 
his  first  appearance  to  his  gradj'atin',  and 


SONNY  "KEEPIN'   COMPANY"  93 

I  '11  call  your  attention  to  a  thing  I  would 
n't  mention  to  a'  outsider. 

Sence  he  taken  a  notion  to  take  the  girls 
out  a-ridin',  why,  I  intend  for  him  to  do 
it  in  proper  style ;  an'  I  went  an'  selected 
this  buggy  myself. 

It  is  sort  o'  fancy,  maybe,  for  the  coun- 
try, but  I  knew  he  'd  like  it  fancy  —  at  his 
age.  I  got  it  good  an'  high,  so  's  it  could 
straddle  stumps  good.  They  's  so  many 
tree-stumps  in  our  woods,  an'  I  know 
Sonny  ain't  a-goin'  to  drive  nowhere  hut 
in  the  woods  so  long  ez  they  's  a  livin' 
thin'  to  scurry  away  at  his  approach,  or  a 
flower  left  in  bloom,  or  a  last  year's  bird's 
nest  to  gether.  An'  the  little  Sweetheart, 
why,  she  's  got  so  thet  she  's  ez  anxious  to 
fetch  home  things  to  study  over  ez  he  is. 

Yas;  I  think  it  is,  ez  you  say,  a  fus'-class 
little  buggy. 

Sonny  ain't  never  did  nothin'  half -ways, 
— not  even  mischief, —  an'  I  ain't  a-goin' 
in,  at  this  stage  o'  his  raisin',  to  stint  him. 

List'n  at  me  sayin'  "  raisin' "  ag'in,  after 
all  Miss  Phoebe  has  preached  to  me  about 
it !  She  claims  thet  folks  has  to  be  fetched 


94  SONNY 

up, —  or  "  brung  up  "  I  believe  sbe  calls  it, 
—  an'  I  don't  doubt  she  knows. 

She  allows  thet  pigs  is  raised,  an'  pota- 
ters,  an'  even  chickens;  an'  she  said,  one 
day,  thet  ef  I  insisted  on  "  raisin' "  child'en, 
she  'd  raise  a  row.  She  's  a  quick  hand  to 
turn  a  joke.  Miss  Phoebe  is. 

Nobody  thet  ever  lived  in  Simpkinsville 
would  claim  thet  rows  could  n't  be  raised, 
I  'm  shore,  after  all  the  fuss  thet 's  been 
made  over  puttin'  daytime  candles  in  our 
'piscopal  church.  Funny  how  folks  '11  fuss 
about  sech  a  little  thing  when,  ef  they  'd 
stop  to  think,  they  's  so  many  mo'  impor- 
tant subjec's  thet  they  could  git  up  dif- 
fe'nces  of  opinion  on. 

I  did  n't  see  no  partic'lar  use  in  lightin' 
the  candles  myself,  bein'  ez  we  did  n't  need 
'em  to  see  by,  an'  shorely  the  good  Lord 
thet  can  speak  out  a  sun  any  time  he  needs 
a  extry  taper  could  n't  be  said  to  take  no 
pleasure  in  a  Simpkinsville  home-dipped 
candle.  But  the  way  I  look  at  it,  seem  like 
ef  some  wants  em,  why  not  ? 

Th'  ain't  nothin'  mo'  innercent  than  a 
lighted  candle, —  kep'  away  up  on  the  wall 


SONNY   "KEEPIN'   COMPANY"  95 

out  o'  the  draft,  the  way  they  are  in  church, 
—  an'  so,  when  it  come  to  votin'  on  it,  why, 
I  count  peace  an'  good-will  so  far  ahead  o' 
taller  thet  I  voted  thet  I  was  good  for  ez 
many  candles  ez  any  other  man  would 
give.  An'  quick  ez  I  said  them  words, 
why,  Enoch  Johnson  up  an'  doubled  his 
number.    It  tickled  me  to  see  him  do  it,  too. 

Enoch  hates  me  thess  because  he  's  got 
a  stupid  boy  —  like  ez  ef  that  was  any  o' 
my  fault.  His  Sam  failed  to  pass  at  the 
preliminar'  examination,  an'  was  n't  al- 
lowed to  try  for  a  diplomy  in  public ;  an' 
Enoch  an'  his  wife,  why,  they  seem  to  hold 
it  ag'in'  me  thet  Sonny  could  step  in  at  the 
last  moment  an'  take  what  their  boy  could 
n't  git  th'oo  the  trials  an'  tribulations  of  a 
whole  year  o'  bein'  teached  lessons  at  home 
an'  wrestled  in  prayer  over. 

I  ain't  got  a  thing  ag'in'  Enoch,  not  a 
thing  —  not  even  for  makin'  me  double 
my  number  o'  candles.  Mo'  'n  that,  I  'd 
brighten  up  Sam's  mind  I'or  'im  in  a  min- 
ute, ef  I  could. 

I  never  was  jealous-hearted.  An'  neither 
is  Sonny. 


96  SONNY 

He  sent  Sam  a  special  invite  to  his  grad- 
j'atin'  party,  an'  give  him  a  seat  next  to 
hisseK  so  's  he  could  say  "  Amen  "  to  his 
blessin',  thess  because  he  had  missed  git- 
tin'  his  diplomy.  Everybody  there  knowed 
why  he  done  it. 

But  talkin'  about  Sonny  being  "  raised," 
I  told  Miss  Phoebe  thet  we  'd  haf  to  stop 
sayin'  it  about  him,  right  or  wrong,  ez  a 
person  can't  raise  nothin'  higher  'n  what 
he  is  hisself,  an  Sonny  's  taller  'n  either 
wife  or  me,  an'  he  ain't  but  sixteen.  Ef  we 
raised  'im  partly,  we  must  'a'  sent  'im  up 
the  rest  o'  the  way.  It 's  a  pleasure  to  pass 
a  little  joke  with  Miss  Phoebe ;  she  's  got 
sech  a  good  ear  to  ketch  their  p'ints. 

But,  come  to  growin',  Sonny  never  asked 
nobody  no  odds.  He  thess  stayed  stock- 
still  ez  long  ez  he  found  pleasure  in  bein' 
a  little  runt,  an'  then  he  humped  hisself 
an'  shot  up  same  ez  a  sparrer-grass  stalk. 
It  gives  me  pleasure  to  look  up  to  him  the 
way  I  haf  to. 

Fact  is,  he  always  did  require  me  to  look 
up  to  'im,  even  when  I  looked  down  at  'im. 

Yas,  sir ;  ez  I  said,  Sonny  has  commenced 


SONNY  "KEEPIN'  COMPANY"  97 

keepin'  company, —  outspoke, —  an'  I  can't 
say  thet  I  'm  opposed  to  it,  though  some 
would  say  he  was  a  little  young,  maybe. 
I  know  when  I  was  his  age  I  had  been  in 
love  sev'al  times.  Of  co'se  these  first  little 
puppy-dog  loves,  why,  th'  ain't  no  partic'- 
lar  harm  in  'em  —  less'n  they  're  opposed. 

An'  we  don't  lay  out  to  oppose  Sonny  — 
not  in  nothin'  thet  he  '11  attemp'  —  after 
him  bein'  raised  an'  guided  up  to  this  age. 

There  goes  that  word  "  raisin' "  agi'n. 

He  's  been  in  love  with  his  teacher,  Miss 
Phoebe,  most  three  years — an'  'cep'n'  thet  I 
had  a  sim'lar  experience  when  I  was  sca'cely 
out  o'  the  cradle,  why,  I  might  'a'  took  it 
mo'  serious. 

That  sort  o'  f allin'  in  love,  why,  it  comes 
same  ez  the  measles  or  the  two-year-old 
teeth,  an'  th'  ain't  nothin'  sweeter  ef  it  's 
took  philosophical. 

It  's  mighty  hard,  though,  for  parents, 
thet  knows  thess  how  recent  a  child  is,  to 
reconcile  the  facts  o'  the  case  with  sech 
things  ez  him  takin'  notice  to  the  color  o' 
ribbin  on  a  middle-aged  school-teacher's 
hair  —  an'  it  sprinkled  with  gray. 


98  SONNY 

Sonny  was  worse  plegged  than  most 
boys,  because,  bavin'  two  lady  teachers  at 
that  time,  it  took  him  sort  o'  duplicated 
like. 

I  suppose  ef  he  'd  had  another,  he  'd  'a' 
been  equally  distributed  on  all  three. 

The  way  I  look  at  it,  a  sensible,  serious- 
minded  woman  thet  starts  out  to  teach 
school  —  which  little  fellers  they  ain't  got 
no  sense  on  earth,  nohow — ain't  got  no 
business  with  ribbin-bows  an'  ways  an' 
moles  on  their  cheek-bones.  An'  ef  they 
've  got  knuckles,  they  ought  to  be  like  wife's 
or  mine,  pointed  outward  for  useful  ser- 
vice, instid  o'  bein'  turned  inside  out  to  at- 
tract a  young  child's  admiration  —  not  thet 
I  hold  it  against  Miss  Phoebe  thet  her 
knuckles  is  reversed.  Of  co'se  she  can't 
be  very  strong-fingered.  No  finger  could 
git  much  purchase  on  a  dimple. 

'T  ain't  none  of  her  fault,  I  know.  But 
Sonny  has  seen  the  day  thet  seem  like  he 
could  n't  talk  about  another  thing  but  her 
an'  her  dimpled  knuckles  —  them  an'  that 
little  brown  mole  thet  sets  out  on  the 
aidge  of  her  eyebrow. 


SONNY  "KEEPIN'  COMPANY"  99 

I  think  myself  thet  that  mole  looks  right 
well,  for  a  blemish,  which  wife  says  it  is, 
worst  kind.  But  of  co'se  a  child  could  n't 
be  expected  to  know  that.  It  did  seem  a 
redic'lous  part  o'  speech  the  first  time  he 
mentioned  sech  a  thing  to  his  mother,  but 
a  boy  o'  twelve  could  n't  be  expected  to 
know  the  difference  between  a  mountain 
an'  a  mole-hill. 

I  ricoUec'  he  used  to  talk  in  his  sleep 
consider'ble  when  he  was  a  little  chap,  an' 
it  always  fretted  wife  turrible.  She  'd  git 
up  out  o'  bed  thess  ez  soon  ez  he  'd  begin 
to  hold  fo'th,  an'  taller  him  over.  When- 
ever she  did  n't  seem  to  know  what  else  to 
do,  why,  she  'd  tal'er  him;  an'  I  don't 
reckon  there  's  anything  less  injurious  to 
a  child,  asleep  or  awake,  than  taller. 

She  's  tallered  him  for  his  long  division, 
an'  she  's  tallered  him  for  that  blemish  on 
Miss  Phoebe's  cheek,  an'  she 's  tallered  him 
for  clairin'  o'  his  th'oat.  His  other  lady 
teacher.  Miss  Alviry  Sawyer,  she  was  a 
single-handed  maiden  lady  long  'bout  wife's 
age,  an'  she  did  n't  have  a  feature  on  earth 
thet  a  friend  would  seem  to  have  a  right 


100  SONNY 

to  mention,  she  not  bein'  to  blame;  but 
she  had  a  way  o'  clairin'  her  th'oat,  sort  o' 
polite,  bef  o'  she  'd  open  her  mouth  to  speak. 
Sonny,  he  seemed  to  think  it  was  mighty 
graceful  the  way  she  done  it,  an'  he 's  often 
imitated  it  in  his  little  sleep  —  nights  when 
he  'd  eat  hot  waffles  for  his  supper. 

An'  wife  she  'd  always  jump  up  an'  git 
the  mutton  taller.  I  never  took  it  serious 
myself,  'cause  I  know  how  a  triflin'  thing 
'11  sometimes  turn  a  level-headed  little  chap 
into  a  drizzlin'  ejiot.    I  been  there  myself. 

But  th'  ain't  no  danger  in  it,  not  less'n 
he  's  made  a  laughin'-stalk  of  —  which  is 
cruelty  to  animals,  an'  should  n't  be  al- 
lowed. 

I  know  when  I  went  to  school  up  here  at 
Sandy  Cri'k,  forty  year  ago,  I  was  teached 
by  a  certain  single  lady  that  has  subse- 
quently died  a  nachel  death  of  old  age  an' 
virtuous  works,  an'  in  them  days  she  wo'e 
a  knitted  collar,  an'  long  curls  both  sides 
of  her  face ;  an'  I  've  seen  many  a  night, 
after  the  candle  was  out,  thet  she  'd  appear 
befo'  me.  She  'd  seem  to  come  an'  hang 
over  my  bed-canopy  same  ez  a  chandelier, 


SONNY  "KEEPIN'  COMPANY"  101 

with  them  side  curls  all  a-jingUn'  like  cut- 
glass  dangles.  It 's  true,  she  used  mostly 
to  appear  with  a  long  peach-switch  in  her 
hand,  but  that  was  nachel  enough,  that 
bein'  the  way  she  most  gen'ally  approached 
me  in  life. 

But  of  co'se  I  come  th'oo  without  taller. 
My  mother  had  thirteen  of  us,  an'  ef  she  'd 
started  anointin'  us  for  all  our  little  side- 
curled  nightmares,  she  'd  'a'  had  to  go  to 
goose  raisin'. 

You  see,  in  them  days  they  used  goose 
grease. 

I  never  to  say  admired  that  side-curled 
lady  much,  though  she 's  made  some  lastin' 
impressions  on  me.  Why,  I  could  set  down 
now,  an'  make  a  drawin'  of  that  knitted  col- 
lar she  used  to  wear,  an'  it  over  forty  year 
ago.  I  ricollec'  she  was  cross-eyed,  too,  in 
the  eye  todes  the  foot  o'  the  class,  where 
I  'd  occasionally  set ;  an',  tell  the  truth,  it 
was  the  strongest  reason  for  study  thet  I 
had  —  thess  to  get  on  to  the  side  of  her 
certain  eye.  Th'  ain't  anything  much  mo' 
tantalizin'  to  a  person  than  uncertainty  in 
sech  matters. 
7* 


102  SONNY 

She  was  mighty  plain,  an'  yet  some  o' 
the  boys  seemed  to  see  beauty  in  her.  I 
know  my  brother  Bob,  he  confided  to 
mother  once-t  thet  he  thought  she  looked 
thess  precizely  like  the  Queen  o'  Sheba 
must  'a'  looked,  an'  I  ricollec'  thet  he  cried 
bitter  because  mother  told  it  out  on  him 
at  the  dinner-table.  It  was  turrible  cruel, 
but  she  did  n't  reelize. 

I  reckon,  ef  the  truth  was  known,  most 
of  us  nine  has  seen  them  side  curls  in  our 
sleep.  An'  nobody  but  God  an'  his  angels 
will  ever  know  how  many  of  us  passed 
th'oo  the  valley  o'  the  shadder  o'  that  sin- 
gular-appearin'  lady,  or  how  often  we  no- 
tified the  other  eight  of  the  fact,  unbe- 
knowinst  to  his  audience,  while  they  was 
distributed  in  their  little  trundle-beds. 

I  sometimes  wonder  ef  they  ain't  no  ac- 
count took  of  little  child'en's  trials.  Seems 
to  me  they  ought  to  be  a  little  heavenly 
book  kep'  a-purpose ;  an'  't  would  n't  do  no 
harm  ef  earthly  fathers  an'  mothers  was 
occasionally  allowed  to  look  over  it. 

My  brother  Bob,  him  thet  likened  Miss 
Alviry  to  the  Queen  o'  Sheba,  always  was 


SONNY  "KEEPIN'  COMPANY"  3  03 

a  sensitive-minded  child,  an'  we  all  knowed 
it,  too;  and  yet,  we  never  called  him  a 
thing  for  months  after  that  but  Solomon. 
We  ought  to  've  been  whupped  good  for  it. 

Bob  ain't  never  married,  an'  for  a  bach- 
elor person  of  singular  habits,  he 's  kep'  ez 
warm  a  heart  ez  ever  I  see. 

I  've  often  deplo'ed  him  not  marryin'.  In 
fact,  sense  I  see  what  comfort  is  to  be  took 
in  a  child,  why,  I  deplo'  all  the  singular 
numbers  —  though  the  Lord  could  n't  be 
expected  to  have  a  supply  on  hand  thess 
like  Sonny  to  distribute  'round  on  demand. 

But  I  doubt  ef  parents  knows  the  differ- 
ence. 

I  've  noticed  thet  when  they  can't  take 
pleasure  in  extry  smartness  in  a  child, 
why,  they  make  it  up  in  tracin'  resem- 
blances. I  suppose  they  's  parental  com- 
fort to  be  took  to  in  all  kinds  o'  babies.  I 
know  I  've  seen  some  dull-eyed  ones  thet 
seemed  like  ez  ef  they  was  n't  nothin'  for 
'em  to  do  hut  resemble. 

But  talkin'  about  Sonny  a-fallin'  in  love 
with  his  teachers,  why,  they  was  a  time 
here  when  he  wanted  to  give  away  every- 


104  SONNY 

thing  in  the  house  to  first  one  an'  then  the 
other.  The  first  we  noticed  of  it  was  him 
tellin'  us  how  nice  Miss  Alviry  thought  his 
livers  and  gizzards  was.  Now,  everybody 
knows  thet  they  ain't  been  a  chicken  thet 
has  died  for  our  nourishment  sence  Sonny 
has  cut  his  eye-teeth  but  has  give  up  its 
vitals  to  him,  an'  give  'em  willin'ly,  they 
bein'  the  parts  of  his  choice;  an'  it  was 
discouragin',  after  killin'  a  useless  number 
o'  chickens  to  git  enough  to  pack  his  lit- 
tle lunch-bucket,  to  have  her  eat  'em  up — 
an'  she  forty  year  old  ef  she  's  a  day,  an' 
he  not  got  his  growth  yet.  An'  yet,  a 
chicken  liver  is  thess  one  o'  them  little 
things  thet  a  person  could  n't  hardly  th'ow 
up  to  a  school-teacher  'thout  seemin'  small- 
minded. 

I  never  did  make  no  open  objection  to 
him  givin'  away  anything  to  his  teachers 
tell  the  time  he  taken  a  notion  to  give  Miss 
Phoebe  the  plush  album  out  o'  the  parlor. 
We  was  buyin'  it  on  instalments  at  twen- 
ty-five cents  a  week,  and  it  was  n't  fully 
installed  at  the  time,  an'  I  told  him  it  would 
n't  never  do  to  give  away  what  was  n't 
ours. 


SONNY  "KEEPIN'  COMPANY"  105 

When  it  conies  to  principle,  why,  I  al- 
ways take  a  stand.  I  thought  likely  by 
the  time  it  was  ours  in  full  he  'd  've  re- 
covered from  his  attackt,  an'  be  willin'  for 
his  ma  to  keep  it ;  an'  he  was. 

An'  besides,  sence  his  pet  squir'l  has  done 
chawed  the  plush  clean  off  one  corner  of 
it,  he  says  he  would  n't  part  with  it  for 
nothin'.  Of  co'se  a  beast  could  n't  be  ex- 
pected to  reelize  the  importance  o'  plush. 
An'  that 's  what  seems  to  tickle  Sonny  so. 

We  had  bought  it  chiefly  on  his  account, 
so  ez  to  git  'im  accustomed  to  seein'  hand- 
some things  around,  so  thet  when  he  goes 
out  into  the  world  he  won't  need  to  be 
flustered  by  finery. 

Wife  she  's  been  layin'  by  egg  money  all 
spring  to  buy  a  swingin',  silver-plated  ice- 
pitcher,  so  '11  he  feel  at  home  with  sech 
things,  an'  capable  of  walkin'  up  to  one 
an'  tiltin'  it  unconcerned,  which  is  more  'n 
I  can  do  to  this  day.  I  always  feel  like  ez 
ef  I  ought  to  go  home  an'  put  on  my  Sun- 
day clo'es  befo'  I  can  approach  one  of  'em. 

Sech  ez  that  has  to  be  worked  into  a  per- 
son's constitution  in  youth.    The  motions 


106  SONNY 

of  a  gourd-dipper,  kep'  in  constant  prac- 
tice for  years,  is  mighty  hard  to  reverse. 

How  does  that  look  now,  doctor  ?  Yas ;  I 
think  so,  too.  It 's  tied  in  a  right  good  bow 
for  a  ten-thumbed  man,  which  I  shorely 
am,  come  to  fingerin'  ribbin. 

He  chose  blue  because  she  's  got  blue 
eyes  —  pore  little  human!  Sir?  Who  is 
she,  you  say?  "Why,  don't  you  know? 
She  's  Joe  Wallace's  little  Mary  Elizabeth 
— a  nice,  well-mannered  child  ez  ever 
lived. 

Wife  has  had  her  over  here  to  supper 
sev'al  nights  lately,  an'  Sonny  he  's  took 
tea  over  to  the  Wallaces'  once-t  or  twice-t, 
an'  they  say  he  shows  mighty  good  table 
manners,  passin'  things  polite,  an'  leavin' 
proper  amounts  on  his  plate.  His  mother 
has  always  teached  him  keerful.  It 's  good 
practice  for  'em  both.  Of  co'se  Mary  Eliza- 
beth she  's  a  year  older  'n  what  Sonny  is, 
an'  she  's  thess  gittin'  a  little  experience 
out  o'  him  —  though  she  ain't  no  ways  con- 
scious of  it, —  an'  he  '11  gain  a  good  deal  o' 
courage  th'oo  keepin'  company  with  a  lady- 
like girl  like  Mary  Elizabeth.    That 's  the 


SONNY  "KEEPIN'  COMPANY"  107 

way  it  goes,  an'  I  tliink  th'  ain't  nothin' 
mo'  innercent  or  sweet. 

How  'd  you  say  that,  doctor  ?  S'posin' 
it  was  n't  to  turn  out  that-a-way  ?  Well, 
bless  yo'  heart,  ef  it  was  to  work  out  in  all 
seriousness^  what  could  he  sweeter  ^n  little 
Mary  Elizabeth  f  Sonny  ain't  got  it  in  his 
power  to  displease  us,  don't  keer  what  he 
was  to  take  a  notion  to,  less'n,  of  co'se,  it 
was  wi'ong,  which  it  ain't  in  him  to  do  — 
not  knowiu'ly. 

You  know,  Sonny  has  about  decided  to 
take  a  trip  north,  doctor  —  to  New  York 
State.  Sir  ?  Oh,  no ;  he  ain't  goin'  to  take 
the  co'se  o'  lectures  thet  Miss  Phoebe  has 
urged  him  to  take  —  't  least,  that  ain't  his 
intention. 

No ;  he  sez  thet  he  don't  crave  to  fit  his- 
self  to  teach.  He  sez  he  feels  like  ez  ef  it 
would  smother  him  to  teach  school  in  a 
house  all  day.     He  taken  that  after  me. 

No;  he  's  goin  a-visitin'.  Oh,  no,  sir; 
we  ain't  got  no  New  York  kin.  He  's  a- 
goin'  all  the  way  to  that  strange  an'  distant 
State  to  call  on  a  man  thet  he  ain't  never 
see,  nor  any  of  his  family.    He  's  a  gentle- 


108  SONNY 

man  by  the  name  o'  Burroughs  —  John 
Burroughs.  He  's  a  book-writer.  The  first 
book  thet  Sonny  set  up  nights  to  read  was 
one  o'  his'n  —  all  about  dumb  creatures  an' 
birds.  Sonny  acchilly  wo'e  that  book  out 
a-readin'  it. 

Yas,  sir;  Sonny  says  thet  ef  he  could 
thess  take  one  long  stroll  th'oo  the  woods 
with  him,  he  'd  be  willin'  to  walk  to  New 
York  State  if  necessary.  An'  we  're  a-goin' 
to  let  'im  go.  The  purtiest  part  about  it  is 
thet  this  here  great  book-writer  has  invited 
him  to  pay  him  a  visit.  Think  o'  that,  will 
you  ?  Think  of  a  man  thet  could  think  up 
a  whole  row  o'  books  a-takin'  sech  a'  in- 
t'res'  in  our  plain  little  Arkansas  Sonny. 
But  he  done  it;  an'  'mo'  'n  that,  he  re- 
marked in  the  letter  thet  it  would  give  him 
great  pleasure  to  meet  the  boy  thet  had  so 
many  mutual  friends  in  common  with  him, 
or  some  sech  remark.  Of  co'se,  in  this  he 
referred  to  dumb  brutes,  an'  even  trees, 
so  Sonny  says.  Oh,  cert'n'y ;  Sonny  writ 
him  first.  How  would  he  've  knew  about 
Sonny  !  Miss  Phoebe  she  encouraged  him 
to   write   the  letter,  but  it  was   Sonny's 


SONNY  "KEEPIN'  COMPANY"  109 

first  idee.  An'  the  answer,  why,  he  's  got 
it  framed  an'  hung  up  above  his  book- 
shelves between  our  marriage  c'tif'cate  an' 
his  diplomy. 

He  's  done  sent  Sonny  his  picture,  too. 
He 's  took  a-settin'  up  in  a'  apple-tree.  You 
can  tell  from  a  little  thing  like  that  thet  a 
person  ain't  no  dude,  an'  I  like  that.  We 
've  put  that  picture  in  the  front  page  of 
the  plush  album,  an'  moved  the  bishop  back 
one  page. 

Sonny  has  sent  him  a  photograph  of  all 
our  family  took  together,  an'  likely  enough 
he  '11  have  it  framed  time  Sonny  arrives 
there. 

When  he  goes,  little  Mary  Elizabeth, 
why,  she  's  offered  to  take  keer  of  all  his 
harmless  live  things  till  he  comes  back,  an' 
I  s'pose  they  '11  be  letters  a-passin'  back 
and  fo'th.  It  does  seem  so  funny,  when  I 
think  about  it.  'Pears  like  thess  the  other 
day  thet  Mis'  Wallace  fetched  little  Mary 
Elizabeth  over  to  look  at  Sonny,  an'  he 
on'y  three  days  old.  I  ricoUec'  when  she 
seen  'im  she  took  her  little  one-year-old 
finger  an'  teched  'im  on  the  forehead,  an' 


110  SONNY 

she  says,  says  she,  "  Howdy!" — thess  that- 
a-way.  I  remember  we  all  thought  it  was 
so  smart.  Seemed  like  ez  ef  she  reelized 
thet  he  had  thess  arrived  —  an'  she  had 
thess  learned  to  say  "  Howdy,"  an'  she  up 
an'  says  it. 

An'  she  's  ap'  at  speech  yet,  so  Sonny 
says.  She  don't  say  much  when  wife  or  I 
are  around,  which  I  think  is  showin'  only 
right  an'  proper  respec's. 

Th'  ain't  nothin'  pui'tier,  to  my  mind, 
than  for  a  young  girl  to  set  up  at  table 
with  her  elders,  an'  to  'tend  strictly  to  busi- 
ness. Mary  Elizabeth  '11  set  th'oo  a  whole 
meal,  an'  sca'cely  look  up  from  her  plate. 
I  never  did  see  a  httle  girl  do  it  mo' 
modest. 

Of  co'se,  Sonny,  he  bein'  at  home,  an'  she 
bein'  his  company,  why,  he  talks  constant, 
an'  she  '11  glance  up  at  him  sort  o'  sideways 
occasional.  Wife  an'  me,  we  find  it  ez  much 
ez  we  can  do,  sometimes,  to  hold  in;  we 
feel  so  tickled  over  their  cunnin'  little  ways 
together.  To  see  Sonny  politely  take  her 
cup  o'  tea  an'  po'  it  out  in  her  saucer  to  cool 
for  her  so  nice,  why,  it  takes  all  the  dig- 


SONNY  "KEEPIN'  COMPANY"  111 

nity  we  can  put  on  to  cover  our  amuse- 
ment over  it.  You  see,  they  've  only  lately 
teethed  together,  them  child'en. 

I  reckon  the  thing  sort  o'  got  started  last 
summer.  I  know  he  give  her  a  flyin'  squir'l, 
an'  she  embroidered  him  a  hat-band.  I 
suspicioned  then  what  was  comin',  an'  I 
advised  wife  to  make  up  a  few  white-bo- 
somed shirts  for  him,  an'  she  did  n't  git 
'em  done  none  too  soon.  'T  was  n't  no  time 
befo'  he  called  for  'em. 

A  while  back  befo'  that  I  taken  notice 
thet  he  'd  put  a  few  idees  down  on  sheets 
o'  paper  for  her  to  write  her  compositions 
by.  Of  co'se,  he  would  n't  write  'em.  He 
's  too  honest.  He  'd  thess  sugges'  idees 
promiscu'us. 

She 's  got  words,  so  he  says,  an'  so  she  'd 
write  out  mighty  nice  compositions  by  his 
hints.  I  taken  notice  thet  in  this  world  it 's 
often  that-a-way;  one  '11  have  idees,  an' 
another  '11  have  words.  They  ain't  always 
bestowed  together.  When  they  are,  why, 
then,  I  reckon,  them  are  the  book-writers. 
Sonny  he  's  got  purty  consider'ble  o'  both 
for  his  age,  but,  of  co'se,  he  would  n't  never 


112  SONNY 

aspire  to  put  nothin'  he  could  think  up  into 
no  printed  book,  I  don't  reckon;  though 
he  's  got  three  blank  books  filled  with  the 
routine  of  "  out-door  housekeepin',"  ez  he 
calls  it,  the  way  it  's  kep'  by  varmints  an' 
things  out  o'  doors  under  loose  tree-barks 
an'  in  all  sorts  of  outlandish  places.  I  did 
only  last  week  find  a  piece  o'  paper  with 
a  po'try  verse  on  it  in  his  hand-write  on  his 
little  table.  I  suspicioned  thet  it  was  his 
composin',  because  the  name  "  Mary  Eliza- 
beth "  occurred  in  two  places  in  it,  though, 
of  co'se,  they  's  other  Mary  Elizabeths. 
He  's  a  goin'  to  fetch  that  housekeepin' 
book  up  north  with  him,  an'  my  opinion  is 
thet  he  's  a-projec'ing  to  show  it  to  Mr. 
Burroughs.  But  likely  he  won't  have  the 
courage. 

Yas ;  take  it  all  together,  I  'm  glad  them 
two  child'en  has  took  the  notion.  It  '11  be 
a  good  thing  for  him  whilst  he  's  throwed 
in  with  all  sorts  o'  travelin'  folks  goin'  an' 
comin'  to  reelize  thet  he  's  got  a  little 
sweetheart  at  home,  an'  thet  she  's  bein' 
loved  an'  cherished  by  his  father  an'  mother 
du'in'  his  absence. 


SONNY  "KEEPIN'   COMPANY"  113 

Even  after  they  've  gone  their  sep'rate 
ways,  ez  they  most  likely  will  in  time,  it  '11 
be  a  pleasm-e  to  'em  to  look  back  to  the 
time  when  they  was  little  sweethearts. 

I  know  I  had  a  number,  off  an'  on,  when 
I  was  a  youngster,  an'  they  're  every  one 
hung  up  —  in  my  mind,  of  co'se  —  in  little 
gilt  frames,  each  one  to  herself.  An'  some- 
times, when  I  think  'em  over,  I  imagine 
thet  they  's  sweet  bunches  of  wild  vi'lets 
a-settin'  under  every  one  of  'em  —  all  'cep'n' 
one,  an'  I  always  seem  to  see  pinks  under 
hers. 

An'  she  's  a  grandmother  now.  Funny 
to  think  it  all  over,  ain't  it  f  At  this  present 
time  she  's  a  tall,  thin  ol'  lady  thet  fans 
with  a  tm*key-tail,  an'  sets  up  with  the 
sick.  But  the  way  she  hangs  in  her  httle 
frame  in  my  mind,  she  's  a  chunky  little 
thing  with  fat  ankles  an'  wrisses,  an'  her 
two  cheeks  they  hang  out  of  her  pink  cali- 
ker  sunbonnet  thess  like  a  pair  o'  ripe 
plumgranates. 

She  was  the  pinkest  little  sweetheart 
thet  a  pink-lovin'  school-boy  ever  picked 
out  of  a  class  of  thirty-five,  I  reckon. 
8 


114  SONNY 

Seemed  to  me  everything  about  her  was 
fat  an'  chubby,  thess  like  herself.  Eicol- 
lec',  one  day,  she  dropped  her  satchel,  an' 
out  rolled  the  fattest  little  dictionary  I 
ever  see,  an'  when  I  see  it,  seem  like  she 
could  n't  nachelly  be  expected  to  tote  no 
other  kind.  I  used  to  take  pleasure  in 
getherin'  a  pink  out  o'  mother's  garden  in 
the  mornin's  when  I  'd  be  startin'  to  school, 
an'  slippin'  it  on  to  her  desk  when  she 
would  n't  be  lookin',  an'  she  'd  always  pin 
it  on  her  frock  when  I  'd  have  my  head 
turned  the  other  way.  Then  when  she  'd 
ketch  my  eye,  she  'd  tm^n  pinker  'n  the 
pink.  But  she  never  mentioned  one  o' 
them  pinks  to  me  in  her  life,  nor  I  to  her. 

Yas ;  I  always  think  of  her  little  picture 
with  a  bunch  o'  them  old-fashioned  garden 
pinks  a  settin'  under  it,  an'  there  they  '11 
stay  ez  long  ez  my  old  mind  is  a  fitten 
place  for  sech  sweet-scented  pictures  to 
hang  in. 

They  've  been  a  pleasure  to  me  all  my 
life,  an'  I  'm  glad  to  see  Sonny 's  a-startin' 
his  little  picture-gallery  a'ready. 


WEDDIN'  PRESENTS 

|^^=^gHAT  you,  doctor  ?   Hitch  up,  an' 
'^^^  '^  -   come  right  in. 

You  say  Sonny  called  by  an' 
ast  you  to  drop  in  to  see  me  ? 

But  I  ain't  sick.  I  'm  thess  settin'  out 
here  on  the  po'ch,  upholstered  with  pillers 
this-a-way  on  account  o'  the  spine  o'  my 
back  feelin'  sort  o'  porely. 

I  reckon  likely  ez  not  it 's  a-fixin'  to  rain 
—  the  way  I  ache. 

Ef  I  don't  seem  to  him  quite  ez  chirpy 
ez  I  ought  to  be,  why  Sonny  he  gets  on- 
easy  an'  goes  for  you,  an'  when  I  complain 
to  him  about  it  —  not  thet  I  ain't  always 
glad  to  see  you,  doctor  —  why,  he  th'ows 
up  to  me  thet  that  's  the  way  we  always 
done  about  him  when  he  was  in  his  first 
childhood.  An'  ef  you  ricoUec'  —  why,  it 's 
about  true.  He  says  he  's  boss  now,  an' 
turn  about  is  fair  play. 

U5 


116  SONNY 

My  pulse  ain't  no  ways  discordant,  is  it  ? 
No,  I  thought  not.  Of  co'se,  ez  you  say,  I 
s'pose  it  's  sort  o'  different  to  a  younger 
person's,  an'  then  I  've  been  so  worked  up 
lately  thet  my  heart  's  bound  to  be  more 
or  less  frustrated,  and  Sonny  says  a  per- 
son's heart  reg'lates  his  pulse. 

I  reckon  I  ain't  ez  strong  ez  I  ought  to 
be,  maybe,  or  I  would  n't  cry  so  easy  ez 
what  I  do.  I  been  settin'  here,  pretty  near 
boo-hoo-in'  for  the  last  half-hour,  over  the 
weddin'  presents  Sonny  has  thess  been  a- 
givin'  me. 

Last  week  it  was  a  daughter,  little  Mary 
Elizabeth  —  an'  now  it 's  his  book. 

They  was  to  've  come  together.  The 
book  was  printed  and  was  to  've  been  re- 
ceived here  on  Sonny's  weddin'-day,  but 
it  did  n't  git  in  on  time.  But  I  counted  it 
in  ez  one  o'  my  weddin'  presents  from 
Sonny,  give  to  me  on  the  occasion  of  his 
marriage,  thess  the  same,  though  I  did  n't 
know  about  the  inscription  thet  he  's  in- 
scribed inside  it  tell  it  arrived  —  an'  I  'm 
glad  I  did  n't. 

Ef  I  'd  've  knew  that  day,  when  my  heart 


WEDDIN'  PRESENTS  117 

was  already  in  my  win'-pipe,  thet  he  had 
give  out  to  the  world  by  sech  a  printed 
declaration  ez  that  thet  he  had  to  say  dedi- 
cated all  his  work  in  life,  in  advance,  to 
my  ol'  soul,  I  could  n't  no  mo'  've  kep'  up 
my  behavior  'n  nothin'. 

I  'm  glad  you  think  I  don't  need  no  phy- 
sic, doctor.  I  never  was  no  hand  to  swal- 
ler  medicine  when  I  was  young,  and  the 
obnoxion  seems  to  grow  on  me  ez  I  git 
older. 

Not  all  that  toddy  ?  You  '11  have  me  in 
a  drunkard's  grave  yet, —  you  an'  Sonny 
together, —  ef  I  don't  watch  out. 

That  nutmeg  gives  it  a  mighty  good 
flavor,  doc'.  Ef  any  thing  ever  does  make 
me  intemp'rate,  why,  it  'U  be  the  nutmeg 
an'  sugar  thet  you  aU  smuggle  the  liquor 
to  me  in. 

It  does  make  me  see  clairer,  I  vow  it 
does,  either  the  nutmeg  or  the  sperit,  one. 

There  's  Sonny's  step,  now.  I  can  tell  it 
quick  ez  he  sets  it  on  the  back  steps.  Sence 
I  'm  sort  o'  laid  up.  Sonny  gits  into  the 
saddle  every  day  an'  rides  over  the  place 
an'  gives  orders  for  me. 
8* 


118  SONNY 

Come  out  here,  son,  an'  shake  hands 
with  the  doctor. 

Pretty  warm,  you  say  it  is,  son!  An' 
th'  ain't  nothin'  goin'  astray  on  the  place  1 
Well,  that 's  good.  An',  doc',  here,  he  says 
thet  his  bill  for  this  visit  is  a  unwarranted 
extravagance  'cause  they  ain't  a  thing  I 
need  but  to  start  on  the  downward  way 
thet  leads  to  ruin.  He  's  got  me  all  threat- 
ened with  the  tremens  now,  so  thet  I  hardly 
know  how  to  match  my  pronouns  to  suit 
their  genders  an'  persons.  He  's  give  me 
fully  a  tablespoonful  o'  the  reverend  stuff 
in  one  toddy.  I  tell  him  he  must  write  out 
a  prescription  for  the  gold  cure  an'  leave 
it  with  me,  so  's  in  case  he  should  drop  off 
befo'  I  need  it,  I  could  git  it,  'thout  ap- 
plyin'  to  a  strange  doctor  an'  disgracin' 
everybody  in  America  by  the  name  o' 
Jones. 

Do  you  notice  how  strong  he  favors  her 
to-day,  doctor? 

I  don't  know  whether  it  's  the  toddy 
I  've  took  thet  calls  my  attention  to  it 
or  not. 

She  always  seemed  to  see  me  in  him  — 


WEDDIN'  PRESENTS  119 

but  I  never  could.  Far  ez  I  can  see,  he 
never  taken  nothin'  from  me  but  his  sect 
—  an'  yo'  name,  son,  of  co'se.  'Cep'in'  for 
me,  you  could  n't  'a'  been  no  Jones  —  't 
least  not  in  our  branch. 

Put  yo'  hand  on  my  f  orr'd,  son,  an'  bresh 
it  up'ards  a  few  times,  while  I  shet  my 
eyes. 

Do  you  know  when  he  does  that,  doc',  I 
could  n't  tell  his  hand  from  hers. 

He  taken  his  touch  after  her,  exact  — 
an'  his  hands,  too,  sech  good  firm  fingers, 
not  all  plowed  out  o'  shape,  like  mine.  I 
never  seemed  to  reelize  it  tell  she  'd  passed 
away. 

That  '11  do  now,  boy.  I  know  you  want 
to  go  in  an'  see  where  the  little  wife  is,  an' 
I  've  no  doubt  you  '11  find  her  with  a  wish- 
ful look  in  her  eyes,  wonderin'  what  keeps 
you  out  here  so  long. 

Funny,  doctor,  how  seein'  him  and  httle 
Mary  Elizabeth  together  brings  back  my 
own  youth  to  me  —  an'  wife's. 

From  the  first  day  we  was  married  to 
the  day  we  laid  her  away  under  the  pop- 
lars, the  first  thing  I  done  on  enterin'  the 


120  SONNY 

house  was  to  wonder  where  she  was  an'  go 
an'  find  her.  An'  quick  ez  I  'd  git  her  lo- 
cated, why,  I  'd  feel  sort  o'  rested,  an' 
know  things  was  all  right. 

Heap  of  his  ma's  ways  I  seem  to  see  in 
Sonny  since  she  's  went. 

An'  what  do  you  think,  doc'  ?  He  's  took 
to  kissin'  me  nights  and  mornin's  since 
she  's  passed  away,  an'  I  could  n't  tell  you 
how  it  seems  to  comfort  me. 

Maybe  that  sounds  strange  to  you  in  a 
grown-up  man,  but  it  don't  come  no  ways 
strange  to  me  —  not  from  Sonny.  Now 
he  's  started  it,  seems  like  ez  ef  I  'd  've 
missed  it  if  he  had  n't. 

Ez  I  look  back,  they  ain't  no  lovin'  way 
thet  a  boy  could  have  thet  ain't  seemed  to 
come  nachel  to  him  —  not  a  one.  An'  his 
little  wife,  Mary  Elizabeth,  why,  they  never 
was  a  sweeter  daughter  on  earth. 

An'  ef  I  do  say  it  ez  should  n't,  their  wed- 
din'  was  the  purtiest  thet  has  ever  took 
place  in  this  county  —  in  my  ricoUection, 
which  goes  back  distinc'  for  over  sixty 
year. 

Everybody  loves  little  Mary  Elizabeth, 


WEDDIN'  PRESENTS  121 

an'  th'  aint  a  man,  woman,  or  cMld  in  the 
place  but  doted  on  Sonny,  even  befo'  he 
tm-ned  into  a  book-writer.  But,  of  co'se, 
all  the  great  honors  they  laid  on  him — the 
weddin'  supper  an'  dance  in  the  Simpkins's 
barn,  the  dec'rations  o'  the  church  that  em- 
braced so  many  things  he 's  lectm-ed  about 
an'  all  that — why  they  was  all  meant  to 
show  fo'th  how  everybody  took  pride  in 
him,  ez  a  author  o'  printed  books. 

You  see  he  has  give'  twelve  lectures  in 
the  academy  each  term  for  the  last  three 
years,  after  studyin'  them  three  winters  in 
New  York,  each  year's  lectures  different, 
but  all  relatin'  to  our  own  forests  an'  their 
dumb  population.  That  's  what  he  calls 
'em.  Th'  ain't  a  boy  thet  has  attended  the 
academy,  sence  he  's  took  the  nachel  his- 
tory to  teach,  but  '11  tell  you  thess  what  kind 
o'  inhabitants  to  look  for  on  any  particular 
tree.  Nearly  every  boy  in  the  comity 's  got 
a  cabinet — an'  most  of  'em  have  carpen- 
tered 'em  theirselves,  though  I  taught  'em 
how  to  do  that  after  the  pattern  Sonny  got 
me  to  make  his  by  —  an'  you  '11  find  all 
sorts  o'  specimens  of  what  they  designate 


122  SONNY 

ez  "summer  an'  winter  resorts"  in  pieces 
of  bark  an'  cobweb  an'  ol'  twisted  tree- 
leaves  in  every  one  of  'em. 

The  boys  thet  dec'rated  the  barn  for  the 
dance  say  thet  they  ain't  a  tree  Sonny  ever 
lectured  about  but  was  represented  in  the 
ornaments  tacked  up  ag'inst  the  wall,  an' 
they  was  n't  a  space  big  ez  yo'  hand,  ez 
you  know,  doctor,  thet  was  n't  covered 
with  some  sort  o'  evergreen  or  berry-branch, 
or  somethin'. 

An'  have  you  heerd  what  the  ol'  nigger 
Proph'  says  1  Of  co'se  he 's  all  unhinged  in 
the  top  story  ez  anybody  would  be  thet 
lived  in  the  woods  an'  e't  sca'cely  anything 
but  herbs  an'  berries.  But,  anyhow,  he  's 
got  a  sort  o'  gift  o'  prophecy  an'  insight, 
ez  we  all  know. 

Well,  Proph',  he  sez  that  while  the  wed- 
din'  march  was  bein'  played  in  the  church 
the  night  o'  Sonny's  weddin'  thet  he  could 
n't  hear  his  own  ears  for  the  racket  among 
all  the  live  things  in  the  woods.  An'  he 
says  thet  they  was  n't  a  frog,  or  a  cricket, 
or  katydid,  or  nothin',  but  up  an'  played  on 
its  little  instrument,  an'  thet  every  note  they 


WEDDIN'  PRESENTS  123 

sounded  fitted  into  the  church  music  — 
even  to  the  mockin'-bird  an'  the  screech- 
owl. 

Of  co'se,  I  don't  say  it  's  so,  but  the  oV 
nigger  swears  to  it,  an'  ef  you  dispute  it 
with  him  an'  ask  him  how  it  come  thet  no- 
body else  did  n't  hear  it,  why  he  says  that 's 
because  them  thet  live  in  houses  an'  eat 
flesh  ain't  got  the  love  o'  Grod  in  their  hearts, 
an'  can't  expect  to  hear  the  songs  of  the 
songless  an'  speech  of  the  speechless. 

That  's  a  toler'ble  high-falutin  figgur  o' 
speech  for  a  nigger,  but  it 's  thess  the  way 
he  expresses  it. 

You  know  he  's  been  seen  holdin'  con- 
versation with  dumb  brutes,  more  'n  once-t 
—  in  broad  daylight. 

Of  co'se,  we  can't  be  shore  thet  they  was 
rejoicin'  expressed  in  the  underbrush  an' 
the  forests,  ez  he  says,  but  I  do  say,  ez  I  said 
before,  thet  Sonny  an'  the  little  girl  has 
had  the  purtiest  an'  joyfulest  weddin'  I 
ever  see  in  this  county,  an'  a  good  time 
was  had  by  everybody  present.  An'  it  has 
made  me  mighty  happy  —  it  an'  its  results. 

They  say  a  son  is  a  son  till  he  gets  him 


124  SONNY 

a  wife,  but  't  ain't  so  in  this  case,  shore. 
I  've  gained  thess  ez  sweet  a  daughter  ez  I 
could  'a'  picked  out  ef  I  'd  'a'  had  the  whole 
world  to  select  from. 

Little  Mary  Elizabeth  has  been  mighty 
dear  to  our  hearts  for  a  long  time,  an'  when 
wife  passed  away,  although  the  weddin' 
had  n't  took  place  yet,  she  bestowed  a 
mother's  partin'  blessin'  on  her,  an'  give 
Sonny  a  lot  o'  private  advice  about  her 
disposition,  an'  how  he  ought  to  reg'late 
hisself  to  deal  with  it. 

You  see,  Mary  Elizabeth  stayed  along 
with  us  so  much  durin'  the  seasons  he  was 
away  in  New  York,  thet  we  got  to  know 
all  her  crotchets  an'  quavers,  an'  she  ain't 
got  a  mean  one,  neither. 

But  they  're  there.  An'  they  have  to  be 
dealt  with,  lovin'.  Fact  is,  th'  ain't  no 
other  proper  way  to  deal  with  nothin',  in 
my  opinion. 

We  was  ruther  glad  to  find  out  some 
little  twists  in  her  disposition,  wife  an'  me 
was,  'cause  ef  we  had  n't  discovered  none, 
why  we  'd  'a'  felt  shore  she  had  some  in'ard 
deceit  or  somethin'.    No  person  can't  be 


WEDDIN'  PRESENTS  125 

perfec',  an'  when  I  see  people  always  out- 
wardly serene,  I  mistrust  their  insides. 

But  little  Mary  Elizabeth,  why,  she  ain't 
none  too  angelic  to  git  a  good  healthy  spell 
o'  the  pouts  once-t  in  a  while,  but  ef  she  's 
handled  kind  an'  tender,  why,  she  '11  come 
thoo  without  havin'  to  humble  herself  with 
apologies. 

It  depends  largely  upon  how  a  pout  is 
took,  whether  it  '11  contrac'  itself  into  a 
hard  knot  an'  give  trouble  or  thess  loosen 
up  into  a  good-natured  smile,  an'  the  of- 
tener  they  are  let  out  that-a-way,  the  sel- 
domer  they  '11  come. 

Little  Mary  Elizabeth,  why,  she  looks  so 
purty  when  she  pouts,  now,  that  I  've  been 
tempted  sometimes  to  pervoke  her  to  it, 
thess  to  witness  the  new  set  o'  dimples 
she  '11  turn  out  on  short  notice ;  but  I  ain't 
never  done  it.  I  know  a  dimple  thet  's 
called  into  bein'  too  often  in  youth  is  li'- 
ble  to  lay  the  foundation  of  a  wrinkle  in 
old  age. 

But  takin'  her  right  along  stiddy,  day  in 
an'  day  out,  she  's  got  a  good  sunny  dispo- 
sition an'  is  mighty  lovin'  and  kind. 


126  SONNY 

An'  as  to  character  and  dependableness, 
why,  she  's  thess  ez  sound  ez  a  bell. 

In  a  heap  o'  ways  she  nears  up  to  us, 
sech,  f  instance,  ez  when  she  taken  wife's 
cook-receipt  book  to  go  by  in  experimen- 
tin'  with  Sonny's  likes  an'  dislikes.  'T  ain't 
every  new-married  wife  thet  's  willin'  to 
sample  her  husband's  tastes  by  his  ma's 
cook-books. 

They  seem  to  think  they  're  too  dicta- 
torial. 

But,  of  co'se,  wife's  receipts  was  better  'n 
most,  an'  Mary  Elizabeth,  she  knows  that. 

She  ain't  been  married  but  a  week,  but 
she  's  served  up  sev'al  self-made  dishes  a'- 
ready  —  all  constructed  accordin'  to  wife's 
schedule. 

Of  co'se  I  could  see  the  diff'ence  in  the 
mixin'  —  but  it  only  amused  me.  An' 
Sonny  seemed  to  think  thet,  ef  anything, 
they  was  better  'n  they  ever  had  been  — 
which  is  only  right  and  proper. 

Three  days  after  she  was  married,  the 
po'  little  thing  whipped  up  a  b'iled  custard 
for  dinner  an',  some  way  or  other,  she  put 
salt  in  it  'stid  o'  sugar,  and  poor  Sonny — 


WEDDIN'  PEESENTS  127 

Well,  I  never  have  knew  him  to  lie  out- 
right, befo',  but  he  smacked  his  lips  over 
it  an'  said  it  was  the  most  delicious  cus- 
tard he  had  ever  e't  in  his  life,  an'  then, 
when  he  had  done  finished  his  first  saucer 
an'  said,  "No,  thank  you,  I  won't  choose 
any  more,"  to  a  second  helpin',  why,  she 
tasted  it  an'  thess  bust  out  a-cryin'. 

But  I  reckon  that  was  partly  because 
she  was  sort  o'  on  edge  yet  from  the  excite- 
ment of  new  housekeepin'  and  the  head  o' 
the  table. 

Well,  I  felt  mighty  sorry  to  see  her  in 
tears,  an'  what  does  Sonny  do  but  insist 
on  eatin'  the  whole  dish  o'  custard,  an'  soon 
ez  I  could  git  a  chance,  I  took  him  aside 
an'  give  him  a  little  dose-t  o'  pain-killer,  an' 
I  took  a  few  drops  myself. 

I  had  felt  obligated  to  swaller  a  few 
spoonfuls  o'  the  salted  custard  when  she  'd 
be  lookin'  my  way,  an'  I  felt  like  ez  ef  I 
was  pizened,  an'  so  I  thess  took  the  pain- 
killer ez  a  sort  o'  anecdote. 

Another  way  Mary  Elizabeth  shows 
sense  is  the  way  she  accepts  discipline 
from  the  ol'  nigger,  Dicey. 


128  SONNY 

She  's  mighty  old  an'  strenuous  now, 
Dicej^  is,  an'  she  thinks  because  she  was 
present  at  Sonny's  birth  an'  before  it,  thet 
she  's  privileged  to  correct  him  for  any- 
thing he  does,  and  we  've  always  indulged 
her  in  it,  an'  thess  ez  soon  as  she  knowed 
what  was  brewin'  'twix'  him  an'  Mary  Eliza- 
beth, why,  she  took  her  into  the  same  cus- 
tody, an'  it  's  too  cute  for  anything  the 
way  the  little  girl  takes  a  scoldin'  from  her 
—  thess  winkin'  at  Sonny  an'  me  while  she 
receives  it. 

An'  the  ol'  nigger  'd  lay  down  her  life  for 
her  most  ez  quick  ez  she  would  for  Sonny. 

She  was  the  first  to  open  our  eyes  to  the 
state  of  affairs  'twixt  the  two  child'en,  that 
ol'  nigger  was.  It  was  the  first  year  Sonny 
went  North.  He  had  writ  home  to  his  ma 
from  New  York  State,  and  said  thet  Mr. 
Burroughs  had  looked  over  his  little  writ- 
ings an'  said  they  was  good  enough  to  be 
printed  an'  bound  up  in  a  book. 

Wife,  she  read  the  letter  out  loud,  ez  she 
always  done,  an'  we  noticed  thet  when  we 
come  to  that,  Mary  Elizabeth  slipped  out 
o'  the  room ;  but  we  did  n't  think  nothin' 


WEDDIN'  PEESENTS  129 

of  it  tell  direc'ly  ol'  Dicey,  she  come  in 
tickled  all  but  to  death  to  tell  us  thet  the 
little  girl  was  out  on  the  po'ch  with  her 
face  hid  in  the  honeysuckle  vines,  cryin' 
thess  ez  hard  as  we  was.  So  then,  of  co'se, 
we  knowed  that  ef  the  co'se  of  true  love 
could  be  allowed  to  run  smooth  for  once-t, 
she  was  fo'-ordained  to  be  our  little  bles- 
sin'  —  an'  his  —  that  is,  so  far  as  she  was 
concerned. 

Of  co'se  we  was  even  a  little  tenderer 
todes  her,  after  that,  than  we  had  been 
befo'. 

That  was  over  five  year  ago,  an'  th'  ain't 
been  a  day  sca'cely  sence  then  but  we  've 
seen  her,  an'  in  my  jedgment  they  won't 
be  nothin'  lackin'  in  her  thet 's  needful  in 
a  little  wife  —  not  a  thing. 

Ef  they  's  anything  in  long  acquain- 
tance, they  've  certainly  knowed  one  an- 
other all  the  time  they  've  had. 

Of  co'se  Mary  Elizabeth,  she  ain't  to  say 
got  Sonny's  thoughts,  exac'ly,  where  it 
comes  to  sech  a  thing  ez  book-writin',  but 
he  says  she  's  a  heap  better  educated  'n 
what  he  is. 
9 


130  SONNY 

She  's  got  all  her  tuition  repo'ts  du'in' 
the  whole  time  she  attended  school,  an' 
mostly  all  her  precentages  was  up  close 
onto  the  hund'eds. 

Sonny  never  was  no  hand  on  earth  to 
git  good  reports  at  school. 

They  was  always  so  low  down  in  figgurs 
thet  he  calls  'em  his  "  misconduc'  slips." 

But  they  ain't  a  one  he  's  ever  got,  takin' 
'em  from  the  beginnin'  clean  up  to  the  day 
o'  his  gradjuatin',  thet  ain't  got  some  lovin' 
remark  inscribed  acrost  it  from  his  teacher 
—  not  a  one. 

Even  them  that  wrastled  with  him  most 
severe  has  writ  him  down  friendly  an' 
kind. 

An'  little  Mary  Elizabeth  —  why,  she  's 
took  every  last  one  of  'em  an'  she 's  feather- 
stitched  'em  aroun'  the  edges  an'  sewed  'em 
up  into  a  sort  o'  little  book,  an'  tied  a  rib- 
bin'  bow  acrost  it.  I  don't  know  whether 
she  done  it  on  account  o'  the  teacher's  re- 
marks or  not  —  but  she  cert'n'y  does  prize 
that  pamphlet. 

She  thinks  so  much  of  it  thet  I  been  ad- 
visin'  her  to  take  out  a  fire  insu'ance  on  it. 


WEDDIN'   PRESENTS  131 

In  a  heap  o'  ways  she  thess  perzacly 
suits  Sonny.  Lookin'  at  it  from  one  p'int 
o'  view,  she  's  a  sort  o'  dictionary  to  him. 

Whenever  Sonny  finds  hisself  short  of 
a  date,  f  instance,  or  some  unreasonable 
spellin'  '11  bother  'im,  why,  he  '11  call  out  to 
her  for  it  an'  she  '11  hand  it  out  to  him,  in- 
tac'.    I  ain't  never  knew  her  to  fail. 

You  see,  while  Sonny's  thoughts  is  pm^ty 
far-reachin'  in  some  ways,  he  's  received 
his  education  so  sort  o'  hit  an'  miss  thet 
the  things  he  knows  ain't  to  say  catalogued 
in  his  mind,  an'  while  he  '11  know  one  fac', 
maybe  he  won't  be  able  to  recall  another 
thet  seems  to  belong  hand  in  hand  with  it. 
An'  that 's  one  reason  why  I  say  thet  little 
Mary  Ehzabeth  is  thess  the  wife  for  him. 

She  may  not  bother  about  the  whys  an' 
wherefores,  but  she  's  got  the  statistics. 

It 's  always  well,  in  a  married  couple,  to 
have  either  one  or  the  other  statistical,  so 
thet  any  needed  fac'  can  be  had  on  demand- 
Wife,  she  was  a  heap  more  gifted  that- 
a-way  'n  what  I  was,  but  of  co'se  hers  was 
n't  so  much  book  statistics. 

She  could  give  the  name  an'  age  of  every 


132  SONNY 

COW  an'  caK  on  the  farm,  an'  relate  any 
circumstance  thet  has  took  place  within 
her  recollection  or  mine  without  the  loss 
of  a  single  date  or  any  gain  through  im- 
agination, either. 

I  don't  know  but  I  think  that 's  a  greater 
gif  than  the  other,  to  be  able  to  reproduce 
a  event  after  a  long  time  without  sort 
o'  thess  techin'  it  up  with  a  little  exag- 
geration. 

Th'  ain't  no  finer  trait,  in  my  opinion, 
in  man  or  woman,  than  dependableness, 
an'  that 's  another  reason  I  take  sech  spe- 
cial delight  in  the  little  daughter,  Mary 
Elizabeth. 

If  she  tells  you  a  thing 's  black,  why  you 
may  know  it  don't  lean  todes  brown  or 
gray.    It 's  thess  a  dismal  black. 

She  may  hate  to  say  it,  an'  show  her 
hatred  in  a  dozen  lovin',  regretful  ways, 
but  out  it  '11  come. 

An'  I  think  thet  any  man  thet  can  count 
on  a  devoted  wife  for  exactitude  is  blessed 
beyond  common. 

So  many  exac'  women  is  col'-breasted 
an'  severe.  An'  ef  I  had  to  take  one  or  the 


WEDDIN'  PRESENTS  133 

other,  why,  I  'd  let  my  wife  prevaricate  a 
little,  ef  need  be,  bef  o'  I  'd  relinquish  warm- 
heartedness, an'  the  power  to  command 
peacef  ulness  an'  rest,  an'  make  things  com- 
fortable an'  homely,  day  in  an'  day  out. 

Maybe  I  'm  unprincipled  in  that,  but 
life  is  so  short,  an'  ef  we  did  n't  have  lovin' 
ways  to  lengthen  out  our  days,  why  I  don't 
think  I  'd  keer  to  bother  with  it,  less'n,  of 
co'se,  I  might  be  needful  to  somebody  else. 

Yas,  doc',  I  'm  mighty  happy  in  the 
little  daughter  —  an'  the  book  —  an'  the 
blessed  boy  hisself .  Maybe  I  'm  too  talka- 
tive on  the  subject,  but  the  way  I  feel 
about  him,  I  might  discuss  him  forever, 
an'  then  they  'd  be  thess  a  little  sweetness 
left  over  thet  I  could  n't  put  into  words 
about  him. 

Not  thet  he 's  faultless.  I  don't  suppose 
they  ever  was  a  boy  on  earth  thet  had  mo' 
faults  'n  Sonny,  but  they  ain't  one  he 's  got 
thet  I  don't  seem  to  cherish  because  I 
know  it 's  rooted  in  honest  soil. 

You  may  strike  a  weed  now  an'  ag'in, 
but  he  don't  grow  no  pizen  vines  in  his 
little  wilderness  o'  short-comin's.    Th'  ain't 


134  SONNY 

no  nettles  in  his  garden  o'  faults.  That 
ain't  a  bad  figgur  o'  speech  for  a  ol'  man 
like  me,  is  it,  doctor? 

But  nex'  time  he  stops  an'  tells  you  I  'm 
sick,  you  thess  tell  him  to  go  about  his 
business. 

I  'm  f ailin'  in  stren'th  ez  the  days  go  — 
an'  I  know  it  —  an'  it 's  all  right. 

I  don't  ask  no  mo'  'n  thess  to  pass  on 
whenever  the  good  Lord  wills. 

But  of  co'se  I  ain't  in  no  hurry,  an' 
they  's  one  joy  I  'd  like  to  feel  befo'  that 
time  comes. 

I  'd  love  to  hoi'  Sonny's  baby  in  my  ol' 
arms  —  his  an'  hers  —  an'  to  see  thet  the 
good  ol'  name  o'  Jones  has  had  safe  trans- 
portation into  one  mo'  generation  of  hon- 
est folks. 

Sonny  an'  Mary  Elizabeth  are  too  sweet- 
hearted  an'  true  not  to  be  reproduced  in 
detail,  an'  passed  along. 

This  here  ol'  oak  tree  thet  gran'pa 
planted  when  I  was  a  kid,  why,  it  'd  be  a 
fine  shady  place  for  healthy  girls  an'  boys 
to  play  imder. 

"When  I  set  here  by  myself  on  this  po'ch 


WEDDIN'  PRESENTS  136 

SO  much  these  days  an'  think, — an'  remem- 
ber,— why  I  thess  wonder  over  the  pas- 
sage o'  time. 

I  ricollec'  thess  ez  well  when  gran'pa 
planted  that  oak  saplin'.  My  pa  he  helt 
it  stiddy  an'  I  handed  gran'pa  the  spade, 
an'  we  took  off  our  hats  whilst  he  repeated 
a  Bible  tex'. 

Yes,  that  ol'  oak  was  religiously  planted, 
an'  we  've  tried  not  to  offend  its  first  prin- 
ciples in  no  ways  du'in'  the  years  we  've 
nurtured  it. 

An'  when  I  set  here  an'  look  at  it,  an' 
consider  its  propensities, — it  's  got  five 
limbs  that  seem  thess  constructed  to  hold 
swings, — maybe  it  's  'cause  I  was  raised 
Presbyterian  an'  sort  o'  can't  git  shet  o' 
the  doctrine  o'  predestination,  but  I  can't 
help  seemin'  to  fo'-see  them  friendly  family 
limbs  all  fulfiUin'  their  promises. 

An'  when  I  imagine  myself  a-settin' 
there  with  one  little  one  a-climbin'  over 
me  while  the  rest  swings  away,  why,  seem 
like  a  person  don't  no  mo'  'n  realize  he  's 
a  descendant  befo'  he  's  a'  ancestor. 


UU  CjUUinCni-i  RLUiUi'irii.  i-iu 


II II  III  II 

AA      000  251  869    4 


CENTRAL  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
University  of  California,  San  Diego 

DATE  DUE 

A^^R  19  jQ79 

APR  0  9  1979 

Cl  39 

UCSD  Libr. 

